


Midnight Confessions

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Friendship, Hogwarts Era, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: From Diagon Alley to Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-27
Updated: 2011-07-26
Packaged: 2018-10-26 10:25:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 48,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10784961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: “I love you Hermione Granger,” he whispered, wishing he had the courage to say it to her properly, to her face.“Then why are you snogging Lavender Brown?” Came an unexpected reply.In the infirmary Ron & Hermione come to an understanding, but not before they make their 'Midnight Confessions' and in that brief period before Bill's wedding Ron takes charge of his life planning a future with the woman he loves.





	1. Midnight Confessions

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

Midnight Confessions.

By Alloy

Note: This happens on the second night when Ron was still in the infirmary after been poisoned.

*

_The sound of your footsteps_

_Telling me that you're near_

_Your soft gentle motion, baby_

_Brings out the need in me that no-one can hear, except_

_In my midnight confessions_

_When I tell all the world that I love you_

_In my midnight confessions_

_When I say all the things that I want to_

_I love you_

Extract from "Midnight Confessions" by the Grass Roots 

*

Ron opened his eyes, taking in the now all too familiar ceiling of the infirmary. He felt a hand resting in his own. There was no need to look, he knew perfectly well whose hand it was. She had been there when he had awoken earlier in the day. She had babbled about classes and homework, and how she would help him catch up, and about how lucky he was that Harry kept his head in an emergency. 

Ron smiled to himself. Hermione had launched into a detailed description of her Arithmancy class, and the homework required, before she realized that Ron didn’t take the class, and never had. She had halted in mid-sentence, embarrassed that her hand was still in his, that he was holding it tightly now that he was awake. 

She made some excuse to go to the bathroom, but not before Ron had seen the tears in her eyes. She had been pale, too pale, even for her, and her steps as she left him were hesitant and stumbling. 

"I love you," he had whispered as she closed the door to the infirmary behind her. His hand had felt quite empty without hers. 

While he was sleeping she had returned. Her hand in his had banished nightmares of the giant chess sets, secret chambers, and the department of mysteries, and replaced them with an eternal summer at the Burrow with her and Harry and Ginny.

He wondered briefly how she could be here in the middle of the night, but he decided not to dwell on it. He held a supreme confidence in her abilities. 

"I love you, Hermione Granger," he whispered, wishing he had the courage to say it to her properly, to her face.

"Then why are you snogging Lavender Brown?" came an unexpected reply.

Ron hadn’t realized that she was awake, that she might hear his awkward confession. 

"Because I’m a prat."

Hermione’s voice was soft, hesitant. "I was so afraid I’d lost you."

The silence yawned between them, and Ron filled it by squeezing her hand, and received a short sharp squeeze in reply.

"I’ve been using Lavender to hurt you," Ron said. 

"It worked."

Ron sat up, and instantly regretted it. A sharp pain seared behind his eyes. He gasped involuntarily and lay down again.

"Stupid boy." Hermione’s face appeared before him; as she stood up, she briefly massaged his temples, and he felt the pain ease away. "Better?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"Do you want another pillow?"

"Please."

"You’ve been crying," he said as she fetched the pillow from a nearby bed.

"My best friend’s a prat, wouldn’t you?"

"I want to stop now."

"Being a prat? I don’t think you can."

"No, I want to stop hurting you."

"I think you have." 

They sat in silence. 

"Why Lavender, Ron?"

"I reckon because she was available."

"Because she was willing to snog?"

"Yes."

"She gloated you know? In the girls dorm, about her ‘Won Won’, about how perfect you were for each other, how she was going to marry you." The tears started flowing down Hermione’s cheeks. "It was awful. She doesn’t understand you, not at all, and she wants to plan a life for you."

Hermione buried her face in his chest sobs racking her frame. "You didn’t even ask me."

"I’m sorry," he said, placing his arms gently around her, "I just felt so left out. Slughorn inviting you and Harry to all his parties, and all the girls going crazy over Harry, even you said you fancied him. I guess I felt worthless, and when Ginny said you had snogged Viktor, I…I wanted to hurt you."

Hermione sniffed in a hard unladylike fashion, sitting back she tried to assume her normal manner.

"What am I going to do with you, Ron Weasley?"

Ron closed his eyes, and rolled onto his side, his back toward her. "You should leave me be," he said. "I’m not worth the effort."

He felt her hand on his shoulder. He expected her voice to be shrill, instead it was soft. "Don’t try to manipulate me Ronald. I know you too well for that." She gently pulled him back over onto his back. "I know you far better than Lavender does."

Ron attempted a cocky grin. "'Cause you know everything."

She ignored him, held up her hand, and began ticking points off on her fingers

"In the first place, Ronald, I did not snog Vicktor Krum. He kissed me exactly twice, once before the ball, and once after. Both kisses were rather sloppy if I recall."

"Vicky not a great kisser then?"

"Shut up, Ronald!" 

"In the second place, I do not, and have never fancied Harry. I merely pointed out that he was had become quiet attractive over the summer. As had you."

"You never said so." 

Hermione flushed slightly and continued, "In the third place, I invited you to join me at Slughorn’s party before you started snogging Lavender Brown!" She paused, waiting for him to respond, and after a moment continued. 

"In the fourth place, Ronald, you are not worthless. You’re funny, and clever, and loyal and…" Hermione’s voice broke slightly,"…and the bravest man I know." 

"Harry," said Ron flatly. "Harry’s the bravest man you know."

"No, Ron," said Hermione bring a hand to his cheek. "I’m not saying Harry’s not brave, but Harry doesn’t seem to have much choice in what happens to him. You...you always choose to go with him."

Ron blushed, he wasn’t sure if it was her words, or her touch. 

"In the fifth place," Hermione said, her voice very uncertain now, "I’m in love with you."

"Mione?" he said voicing for the first time his secret endearment, lifting his hand to wipe the tear off her cheek. "I’ve really stuffed it up, haven’t I?"

Hermione nodded, her eyes red, and wide.

"I don’t love Lavender."

"You had better tell her, then."

"Mione, we…I mean us…I want to be with you."

She sighed. "I want that too, Ron."

"One day I want to get married, have a family." 

"Most of us want that, Ron."

Ron sat up, grimacing as he did so, he gripped Hermione’s arm, and held her eye. "I want my kids to be cleverer than me," he said.

"Lavender might not be your best choice, then."

Ron nodded and sank back onto his pillows.

"I rather fancy a little boy with red hair."

"I don’t think Vicktor could help you there."

"I’ve got my eye on someone."

"Me too."

Hermione dropped her eyes to her lap, where her hands seemed to have a life of their own. "Ron. I’m not quite ready to go as far as Lavender. Not yet."

"We only snogged. You saw most of that anyway."

"Lavender said, that is she implied that…"

"She opened her shirt." Ron was crimson in the moonlight. "To show me her…"

"Chest"

"Yes."

"And?"

"I ran away."

"You didn’t look?"

"Of course I looked!" Ron spluttered. "But then I realized what it meant, what it could mean. Thank god Peeves saw us, and we had to duck for it."

"Ron, it’s not that I don’t want to, with you, it’s just that I don’t want it to be in a cupboard or a deserted classroom. I want it to be special."

"It will be, when we’re ready." 

Hermione sighed. "We need to be honest next time Ron. We can’t keep on like this."

"Next time?"

"Next time we fight."

"Will there be a next time?"

"Of course silly. I can’t imagine us not fighting over something."

"Bit like my Mum and Dad."

  
Hermione suddenly giggled. "Do I really sound like your mum?"

"Sometimes, a little yeah. I like it actually."

"You like to be told what to do?"

"Well only by you, and I don’t mind mum as much as I let on, and…" he spluttered to a halt, avoiding her eye.

"Go on Ron."

"McGonagall. She’s a bit like a stern granny isn’t she?"

Hermione giggled, and then suddenly covered her mouth, as she yawned.

"Go to bed, Luv."

She smiled at the endearment, and stood up. 

"How about a goodnight kiss?" he asked hopefully.

"Have you spoken to Lavender?"

Ruefully he shook his head as she made her way to the nearby bed, wearily climbed into it.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Ron."

"How did you get Madam Pomfrey to let you stay in the infirmary?"

"I had an anxiety attack while on prefect rounds"

"Clever of you to fake that," he said

Hermione rolled onto her side, and Ron could see the tears had once again begun to flow. 

"I wasn't faking it."

Fin.


	2. Scary Sometimes

Scary Sometimes.

By alloy

The common room had emptied quickly. 

Students used to admiring the adroit bickering of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, found Lavender Brown’s screeching verbal assault on a non-responsive Ron, to be simply ugly, and there were simply too many ugly things to deal with these days to make it much of a spectator sport. 

Ultimately, only Hermione remained. It was not so much that she wanted to remain, but that she had to. Eventually she knew Lavender would storm up the stairs to the dormitory that they shared, and Hermione had no real desire to be there when she did. Instead, she found a chair facing the fireplace and hid in it, fervently wishing for Harry’s invisibility cloak.

Ron seemed to be bearing the lashing stoically, until Hermione’s astute hearing heard the term, “Mudblood Slut.”

“DON’T!” she heard Ron roar, and she looked to see Ron gripping Lavender’s shoulders fiercely. 

“Don’t you ever talk about her like that again!” his voice hoarse, threatening. Hermione shivered, she had never seen him like this when they bickered, only with Malfoy. Only with Malfoy did he come so close to losing control.

Lavender’s eyes widened, a frightened look flitted across her face. “You’re hurting me,” she squealed squirming in his grip. Ron released her, not bothering to apologize. 

She turned to look across the room at Hermione who held her gaze. Lavender’s eyes narrowed. “What’s the Muggleborn got that I haven’t? It can’t be looks. All that hair, I bet she can’t even snog properly. I bet it just gets in the way. Did you get her hair in your teeth, Ronald, when you were snogging her in your dorm?”

“We weren’t snogging,” Ron sighed.

“Liar!”

“She’s too clever for you, you know. All she does is boss you around, tell you what to do. What is it Ron? Why is she so special?”

“I love her.”

The slap was short, sharp and unexpected. “You bastard!” Tears filled Lavender’s eyes as she left him, hurrying up the steps to the girl’s dorm.

Ron’s hands, she noticed, were shaking.

“I almost hit her,” he said. “When she said that, I… I just saw red…I almost couldn’t control myself.”

He sat down on the couch, putting his hands on his knees in an effort to get them under control.

“She’s right. I am a bastard.”

Hermione’s hand found his. “It wouldn’t worry you so much if you were.”

She could feel his whole body shivering, and she sat beside him, putting her arms around him, willing him to calm down.

Eventually she raised her head to examine his face, gingerly bringing her finger to the red imprint of Lavender’s hand. He flinched but didn’t pull away. “You didn’t deserve this,” she said.

“Maybe I did.”

“You told her the truth.”

“I think that’s what hurt her the most,” he said. “I never told her that I loved her. She wanted me to, but I couldn’t.”

“The words have got to mean something.”

Ron nodded. “That’s why I couldn’t say them.”

“You said them to me.”

“More times than you know.”

Suddenly, Ron chuckled. “It’s sore,” he said, gesturing to his face. “Very sore, and I feel so good about it.”

“You mean it’s liberating!”

“Yeah, it’s like someone’s opened a door, it’s spring, and Quidditch is waiting to be played,” Ron laughed properly, and Hermione swatted him gently. 

“Bloody Quidditch,” she muttered jovially.

“Don’t swear, Hermione!” 

They both relaxed into the couch laughing. All in all it felt normal, and Hermione suddenly realized that all the while they were fighting, all the while they weren’t talking, she hadn’t laughed. They rolled together in their laughter, their legs entwined, and suddenly Hermione found herself staring into Ron’s sky blue eyes.

“He’s going to kiss me,” she thought. Instead he spoke.

“I’ve been thinking of inviting you to Hogsmeade,” he said. “It’s what guys do when they fancy a girl.”

“It’s not allowed,” she said. 

“It doesn’t matter. We’ve already been. The very first time.”

“Harry had to stay behind,” she murmured.

“One of our days,” he said. “I count them. You know, our days, days without Harry.”

“I do too.” She stared into his eyes; there was a twinkle that she hadn’t seen in a while. She had missed the twinkle.

“Guys sometimes take girls to see sports,” he said. “Fred’s taking Angelina to see the Cannons next week, but I know you don’t fancy Quidditch that much.”

“You took me to the world cup.”

“Ah, you see, another thing we’re already done.” He brought his hand up, and began twirling her hair.

“You could take me to dinner.”

“I dunno, ‘Mione, I eat with my mouth open, and…” He tugged at her hair ever so gently.

“Talk with your mouth full.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve met your parents, been to your house,” she said as his hand drifted to her neck.

“Not much left to do is there?”

“No, not much.” She could feel his rough thumb under her chin.

“Haven’t kissed you, though.” He drew her closer, so that they could feel each other’s breath.

“I’ve kissed you.”

“Not as many times as Harry.”

“How many times has Harry kissed you?” she asked coyly.

 He smothered her flippant remark with his lips. Just his lips, resting gently against hers. He whispered into her mouth, “That’s the only time I ever feel jealous of Harry, is when you kiss him, when you hug him. The only time.”

“I don’t love Harry.”

“You do,” he said. “You love him like I love him.” 

Hermione drew back a little. His ears held a slight blush, and on impulse she reached out to touch one.

“They’re pink aren’t they?”

She nodded. “Why is it so difficult for boys to say that?”

“We don’t want people to think we’re weak.”

“Loving Harry doesn’t make you weak, Ron. It makes you strong. It makes Harry strong.”

“I know.”

Slowly she disentangled herself from him. “You don’t have to court me, Ron. You’ve won me already.”

“I still want to kiss you.”

“Tomorrow.”

Hermione made her way slowly to the stairs; just before she reached them, he caught her. Ron didn’t try to kiss her, he just wrapped her in a hug that threatened to crush the breath from her. “Don’t let me do something stupid like that again! Promise me you’ll hex me first.”

“Ron. If I catch you with another girl, I promise, you won’t even know what’s hit you.”

He did kiss her then, chastely on her forehead. “Goodnight, ‘Mione.” She felt his eyes follow her as she walked up the staircase.

Less friendly eyes greeted her as she entered her dorm. Lavender’s tear reddened gaze met her as she entered the room. Parvati, rather sensibly, disappeared into the bathroom.

“Have you come to gloat?”

“No, Lavender, I’ve come to sleep.”

“He was never mine was he?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, not really.”

“You were just talking, weren’t you? In the boy’s dorm?”

“With Harry, yes.”

“He loves you. Even when we were together, when you weren’t talking to him, he still followed you with his eyes,” Lavender sighed. “I was too much of a dizzy tart to notice.”

Hermione chose not to respond, and began turning down her covers.

“I’m sorry,” Lavender said. “You know, about calling you `that’. I know you heard.”

“Forget about it.”

“That’s when I knew really, when I saw his eyes; how angry he was. I knew it was over. I knew he loved you. I knew he had always loved you.” The last had been uttered in a sobbing aching voice, which finally broke down as she fled to the bathroom. 

Hermione found herself staring at the bathroom door. The sight of Parvati jolted her from her thoughts.

The Asian witch sighed, and sat herself down next to Hermione.

“I’m sorry she got hurt.”

“She hurt herself, really. I warned her about Ron. I could see it wasn’t going to work.”

“Divination?”

Parvati snorted and shook her head. “Padma, the Yule Ball. She still won’t talk to Ron.”

“He was such a prat.”

“But he’s your prat, he always has been.” Parvati lay back on the bed. “Some Witches consider a Weasley a bit of a catch, you know. It irked Lavender so much; Ron’s barely looked at another girl since he met you. Even when you’re fighting he still keeps an eye on you.”

“I don’t care what the name means. I only care what Ron means. He could be Ron Smith for all I care.”

“That’s really the way it should be, isn’t it?” Parvati stood up, and patted Hermione on the shoulder. “I’ll just check on Lavender, shall I?”

“Parvati?”

“Yes.”

“He didn’t mean to hurt her. He’s not like that.”

“That’s the problem, Hermione. You and Ron, you’re so wrapped up in each other, you don’t realize who you’re hurting.”

Parvati drew a deep breath. “It’s scary sometimes.”

Fin

NEXT CHAPTER BLURB: 

‘Add Nausea’

With a cameo appearance by ….ah, that would be telling.

Author’s note:  
1\. The huge temptation was to have Hermione blast Lavender from a dizzy height, but that just doesn’t keep with Lavender’s behaviour later in the book. Basically Lavender’s not bad, Lavender’s just sad. 

2\. Special thanks to Sandy, her contribution has been invaluable.

Beta notes:

Thanks loads to alloy for trusting me to take on his story, as working together has been great fun. For all of you readers who love those missing moments as much as I do, you’re truly in for more of a great read, so keep your eyes out for future updates. Soo please…. Read and Review! We thank you kindly.  :]


	3. Add Nausea

Add Nausea

By alloy

He had to. He had no choice. Each kiss had to be punctuated with an endearment.

“I love you.”

“Are you still feeling sick?” she giggled. In reply, he kissed again, on her neck, just below her ear.

“I love you,” he murmured. Kissing Hermione, Ron had realized, was not merely snogging, not merely thrusting tongues and groping hands; no, kissing Hermione was worship, and every kiss had to have a prayer of devotion.  

Her hands found his hair. She loved to run her hands through it. She liked to use it sometimes like reins to guide him. Sometimes he let her.

“What did you tell Harry?” he asked. 

“I forget,” she replied. “Something about an exam, Professor Vector. I don’t know. I just wanted to get here.”

“Gorgeous.” His lips found her earlobe, his tongue teasing it. 

“Weasley,” her voice sent shivers down his spine.

“Ronald.” Fire into his loins.

“I want…” she gasped. He wanted her to want.

“I want…” He peppered her face with kisses, her nose, her closed eyes, her chin.

“KISS ME, DAMN-IT!”

He thrust his hips as he thrust his tongue. Uncaring, grinding himself into her hip, the constriction in his trousers also unbearable. Her tongue fighting with his, bickering, struggling; their whole lives, fighting, bickering, struggling, loving.

“You make me so hard!”

He felt her stiffen; he cursed himself, as they slowly pulled apart.

“I felt it,” she said, “against my hip.” 

“You have an erection,” she whispered. 

Ron felt his ears burning as she glanced down at his groin.

“It’s a perfectly normal natural human reaction,” she said, pulling her legs up under her chin. “We’re both sexually aroused. Perfectly normal.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I shouldn’t be scared.”

“But you are.”

She reached out to touch his cheek. “Not of you, Ron. I always feel perfectly safe with you.”

“You’re scared of this,” Ron gestured vaguely toward his groin. He raised his leg to shield her from the painfully obvious bulge in his trousers.

“Not really. It’s not as if it’s going to bite me, is it?”

A sly grin came over Ron’s face. “Actually, it might. Have to be careful ‘Mione, the swelling lasts up to nine months.” 

He thought he had gone too far for a moment, just a moment, and then a warm smile came over her face, and she laughed.

“You’re beautiful when you laugh,” he said. “I mean you’re beautiful all the time, but especially when you laugh.” 

“You’re just trying to get into my knickers, Mr. Weasley.”

He didn’t know if it was her brazenness or the flush that immediately followed as she hid her face in her hair.

“Merlin, ‘Mione,” he said hoarsely, shifting uncomfortably. “You’ve just made it worse.”

“Just by talking?”

“Half the things you do...more...the whole day, everyday, for years.” 

“Poor thing,” she giggled.

“It’s not that funny.”

“It’s not that, Ron, it’s just that I never thought of myself as the sort of girl that boys wanted.”

He reached for her, just to hold her hand, reveling in the excitement just this simple touch raised. “They’re tossers, the whole bloody lot of them. If they can’t see how beautiful you are, how talented you are, how clever you are. All bloody tossers.”

Ron paused, and glanced around the bathroom. 

“I know we’re hiding a bit, sneaking off coming here. I don’t want you to think it’s because of any of that nonsense Lavender said. That… that’s the reason I don’t want to snog you in front of everyone.”

“Because I’m a Mudblood?”

Ron winced. “Please, ‘Mione, that’s a horrible word and it’s not you in any way. I get so angry when they call you that.”

“Lavender apologized,” Hermione said softly.

“Oh!” he said, his thoughts seemingly derailed. “I need you to understand that, it’s just…” he paused again, and she waited patiently him to find the words. “It’s private, we’re private,” he lowered his voice. “It’s sacred. I don’t want the whole school giggling over our moments…. Also … I don’t want to hurt Lavender anymore, either.”

Hermione nodded, neither of them were proud that Lavender Brown had been an unwitting victim in their tumultuous courtship. 

“I like private too, Ron, It’s just… I feel a little guilty that we haven’t told Harry.”

“Do we need to? I mean he knows us better than anyone. I’m sure he’s figured it out by now. Gin too, I reckon.”

“Then why do we make excuses?”

He grinned cockily.  “Aren’t you enjoying the game?”

“I am, I guess. I suppose Harry has a quiet laugh when we give him these excuses.”

“Probably checks the map.” Ron drew an imaginary map in the air with his finger. He jabbed empty air. “There! Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger in the prefects bathroom,” Ron squinted at the imaginary map. “Their dots are so close together, they can only be…”

“K. I. S. S. I. N. G.” Hermione sang to complete his sentence, and they both collapsed into fits of laughter.

It was her laughter he loved the most, the way she threw her head back, the way her hair hung underneath, the way her eyes glistened with tears of pleasure. The rise and fall of her breasts…her breasts. She had said she was aroused, and her breasts were dancing in front of his eyes.

He flung himself at her. She opened her arms, her lips to meet him, and he submitted as her tongue explored his mouth. He pulled her shirt from her skirt, and ran his hand up her bare back, daringly underneath her bra strap. She shuddered, groaning into his mouth, and he found she had thrust her thigh against his hardness. It was his turn to gasp as her hand squeezed his buttock. 

“I love your bum,” she whispered, and then she buried her face in his chest. He was amazed at her audacity. “Your jeans are always a little tight, and your bum, mmmmm.”

“What is it with girls and bums?” Ron asked. “Ginny was always going on about Dean’s bum, and all the fourths were on about Harry’s.”

“Your bum’s better than Harry’s.” 

“I can’t believe you’ve compared our bums?” said Ron in mock indignation.

“Best bums in school,” Hermione squealed before laughing. 

“Yes, but why bums?”

“Can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Why do you like girls bums?”

“Well, um…”

 “MURDER!” 

They jumped suddenly apart as Moaning Myrtle appeared out of the tub. She immediately spotted them. “Harry’s in trouble,” she said and then almost gleefully, “Poor Draco.”

“MURDER!”

And she was gone.

Ron stood up. Hermione was struggling to put her clothing to rights. She looked up at him. “Go Ron, Harry needs you. Go!”

Fin

Next Chapter Blurp:

Ok, so you know what happens to Harry, so we skip forward a bit.

“You Have a Spot Ron Weasley”

Author’s note:  
1\. I don’t lay claim to the snogging in the bathroom theory, though I fully support it (obviously). 

2\. A big heap of thanks to Sandy (again), she picked up a really big flaw in this chapter, which I was able to fix early on.

3\. I guess you are never going to read this in JKR’s book, but I’d like Ron & Hermione to have a relationship where they can be open to each other about their budding sexuality (they’re 17 years old and horny as hell.)

Beta’s note:

I hope you enjoyed as much as I did. The missing moment we never even thought about until now, brought to you brilliantly by alloy.  Please don’t forget to review. Thanks much!!!!  :]

«    
    



	4. You Have a Spot Ron Weasley

You Have A Spot Ron Weasley.

By alloy  

_She touched his elbow and Ron gently tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. They were talking, quietly, intent only on each other, oblivious to the world around them, then Hermione lifted her arm in a now familiar manner, and Harry turned away. They would kiss now, a simple peck, an affirmation of love, all they usually allowed themselves in company._

_It had all happened so quickly. He had known his best friends were in love, of course. They had been for years, each of them skirting the issue, each of them taking two steps forward, and one step back, but Ron’s near death from poisoning, had changed things. There had been a new openness between them, which had culminated in the support they had given each other at Dumbledore’s funeral. The sight of Ron and Hermione weeping openly in each other’s arms had moved Harry far more than he cared to admit._

_‘How could I not know,’ he asked himself, ‘that my best friends had come this far?’ He felt somewhat ashamed that he hadn’t realized until the last ride home, the last Hogwarts Express._

There were very few students on the train. Most Wizarding families had arranged alternative transport for their children after Dumbledore’s funeral; as a result the vast majority of the passengers were muggleborns. Ginny Weasley had returned home with the family, but Ron had defied his mother, telling her point blank that he would travel on the Express, that he was of age, and that she couldn’t stop him. Mrs. Weasley had been furious, but also, Harry suspected, not just a little proud of her son. Neville Longbottom too had insisted on travelling with them. 

On the nearly deserted train, Hermione was curiously picky about choosing a compartment. She eventually chose one seemingly at random.

As they settled into the compartment, Ron stowed Hermione’s additional baggage in the racks above the seats. He was the last to sit down, and as he did so, Harry watched with amazement as Hermione reached up, and gently tugged a lock of his hair. Ron’s head dipped and they kissed. It was just a simple peck, but the action had been so practiced, so fluid, that it couldn’t possibly have been the first time.

Hermione noticed his look of amazement.

“We thought you knew, Harry.”

“Yeah, mate we weren’t trying to be secretive, just…ah what’s the word, Luv?”

“Discrete, for Lavender’s sake.”

Harry had looked at Neville who had shrugged. “They were always ducking off to the prefects bathroom.”

“Yeah mate, we thought you’d noticed on the map. ‘Mione and me in the bathroom together.”

“’Mione?”

“Just a pet name, Harry,” Hermione said shyly.

Neville cleared his throat. “Just so you know Ron, for future, I think of Hermione as a sister.” Neville swallowed hard. “So… if you treat her poorly, I’ll be forced to take um…steps.”

Hermione blushed and Harry stared at Neville in surprise.

Ron leant across the compartment to grab Neville’s hand. “You don’t really think of her as a sister do you?”

It was Neville’s turn to blush. “No, Ron, but the warning still stands.”

“I understand, mate.”

“Neville,” Hermione’s voice was soft and hesitant. “I always thought of you as a friend. I never…I mean I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

Neville smiled warmly. “No… Well yes, I got hurt, but it wasn’t your fault. You were my first friend at Hogwarts, and the only girl who ever talked to me. I guess I had a little crush. That’s why I asked you to the Yule Ball. Thought I would beat Ron to the punch.”

“Hey!”

“Ronald wasn’t paying too much attention.”

“Hey!”

“Neville?”

They all looked up to find Mandy Brocklehurst at the compartment door.

Neville jumped to his feet, “I asked Mandy to join us guys.” His blush had returned.

Harry was amused that Hermione had nudged Ron onto his feet as well. “Pleased to have you with us,” Ron said awkwardly.

Mandy sat down next to Neville, who put his arm protectively around her. “One of the reasons I insisted on coming on the Express.”

“Er… Mandy,” said Harry awkwardly. “I always thought you and Terry …you know.”

“You and Hermione, Harry?” said Mandy pointedly.

“Mandy’s staying at our house for a while,” Neville said.

“My parents aren’t happy, but after what happened to Hannah’s mom…” Mandy cleared her throat awkwardly.

“Hermione’s staying at the Burrow,” said Ron firmly, and Harry was surprised that Hermione didn’t object.

“How are your parents taking it?” Mandy asked quietly.

“We haven’t told them. Ron’s Dad is going to meet us at the station, to have a word with them, but…” Hermione stumbled to a halt and glanced nervously at Ron.

“They think he’s a little eccentric?” said Mandy completing Hermione’s sentence. “I’m sorry, Ron, but your Dad has a bit of a reputation amongst muggleborns.”

Ron tried to look offended for a moment, and then simply shrugged. Hugging Hermione closer he said, “He’s got a bit of a reputation amongst Wizarding folk, too.”

There were awkward smiles all around, and Harry entertained Neville and Mandy with the story of Mr. Weasley’s visit to the Dursley’s to pick Harry up for the World Cup. 

“Things went a little better at my house,” Hermione chuckled, “Though we had to drag Ron’s Dad away from the vacuum cleaner.”

“We didn’t mean to make a mess ‘Mione. No Wizarding family would have a white carpet by their fireplace.”

“Most muggles don’t expect any army of red heads to come traipsing through their hearth.”

“Well Dad had to talk to your parents, and I had to come of course. The twins do as they please, and I couldn’t stop Ginny from coming because it was…well I couldn’t.” Harry noticed that the tips of Ron’s ears were red. Hermione seemed to have noticed too.

“Why couldn’t you, Ron?”

“No reason, you know how stubborn she gets.” The telltale ears were fairly glowing now.

“Ronald?”

“It was her ticket, alright! Your ticket. Dad gave us each a ticket to invite a friend, and everyone just assumed that I would give mine to Harry, but I had invited you too, so I had to ask Ginny for hers.”

“Ask?” said Hermione sweetly.

“Beg actually. She made me do all her chores all summer.”

Both Neville and Harry chuckled at Ron’s confession, until Mandy punched Neville’s arm. “I think it’s romantic,” she said.

Hermione reached up and grabbed a lock of Ron’s hair. “So you did notice I was a girl.”

Ron gave a cheeky grin. “When you flooed back to the Burrow I did.”

Suddenly Hermione yanked the lock she was holding. “You should have told me not to wear a skirt, you prat.”  

Harry recalled the first time he had flooed. “What happened?”

Hermione blushed. “Let’s just say that Ron got a bit of an eyeful when I got to the Burrow.”

“Didn’t see anything,” Ron protested.

“Right!”

“Didn’t know you could get knickers in Gryffindor colours though…owwwwwwww!”

“Prat!” was all Hermione could say before Ron’s lips descended on hers.

“They even bicker when they’re snogging,” said Mandy.

“You don’t have to bicker to snog,” Neville said, and before Mandy or Harry could register, he had deftly stolen a kiss.

“Where’s Trevor, Neville?” asked Harry after everyone had composed themselves.

“Let him go,” said Neville. “He was always trying to run away, so I figured why not let him. I took him down to the lake before…you know.”

 

The mood sobered a little, but they were all still in far better moods than when they had boarded the train.

“Wait a minute!” said Ron. “I know why you chose this compartment. It’s the one.”

“What one, Ron?” Harry asked.

“This one! It’s the one we were in when Hermione came looking for Neville’s toad.”

“It’s the compartment where I met Ron Weasley,” Hermione said quietly, gently tugging a lock of Ron’s hair again, drawing him toward her. She took Ron’s hand, and placed it over her breastbone. “You have a spot Ron Weasley,” she said. “Right here.”

Fin.

****

Next Chapter Blurb:

Back at the Burrow, it’s time for a heart to heart, “In the Garden.”

Author’s note:  
1\. I’m not sure where the idea of Hermione’s world cup ticket came from. If you want credit, step up and I’ll give it.  

2\. JKR officially squashed Neville/Luna, but I felt he needed some action.

Beta’s note:

Hope you enjoy this over the weekend, so please review! Thanks :]


	5. In The Garden

  
Author's notes: Harry And Hermione share a peaceful moment....In The Garden.   


* * *

_In The Garden._  
  
The streets are always  
  
Wet with rain  
  
After a summer shower  
  
When I saw you standin’  
  
In the garden in the  
  
Garden wet with rain.  
  
In The Garden verse 1 – By Van Morrison from the Album _‘No Guru, No Method, No Teacher.’_  
  
 **In The Garden**  
  
By alloy (Beta'd by Sandy)  
  
The rain had taken the dust and smog from the air and it had a crisp clean taste, as if God had taken the world or at least the Burrow to the laundry. Afternoons after a summer shower, brought with it lethargy as if the clean New World just demanded to be napped in.  
  
Ron had succumbed early, his mother’s roast lamb had beaten his eyes closed, and left him curled up on a couch in the Burrow living room. The remainder of the Weasleys had managed to find their beds, Harry had drifted off in an ancient if comfortable wingback, until he heard Hermione quietly exit the house.  
  
“May I join you?”  
  
“Sure, Harry.” Hermione patted the wooden slats that the Weasleys proudly referred to as their ‘dock’. It was, in reality, little more than a wooden platform over the pond, and any boats that it may have harbored had sunk long before their juvenile builders had left for Hogwarts.  
  
“Not sleepy?”  
  
“A bit, but I just wanted a little time alone,” she said.  
  
“Difficult to be alone at the Burrow.”  
  
“You’ve noticed?”  
  
“It’s one of the things I like most about it. At the Dursley’s they’re either harassing me or ignoring me, here…”  
  
“They just harass you.”  
  
“Yeah,” Harry laughed, “but it’s with love, you know?”  
  
Hermione nodded. “When I go back to my house, it’s funny, I know they love me and I love them, but their world is just so different from mine, and my bedroom, it’s barely changed since I left for Hogwarts. I feel I don’t even know the girl that lived there.”  
  
“I remember her,” Harry said. “She was shorter than you, similar hair, rather bossy, mocked my best friend about his inability to do magic. Much the same as today actually…owww!” Hermione had punched him.  
  
“I feel at home here,” she said. “Here in the garden.”  
  
“Do you remember that movie, about a garden? It was one of Aunt Petunia’s favorites. Whenever Uncle Vernon & Dudley would bugger off together, she used to stick on the video. She didn’t mind me watching either….” Harry’s voice trailed off. “My mum’s sister, and the nicest memory I have of her is watching a bloody video. I can’t even remember its name.”  
  
“Secret Garden?”  
  
“Yeah, that’s it.”  
  
“It’s a book,” Hermione said, “I’ve read it.”  
  
“I used to feel like the boy, the one that was locked away all the time.”  
  
“Colin.”  
  
“Yeah, like Colin, never seeing daylight, and I used to wish someone would take me away to my own secret garden.”  
  
“So, I’m Mary, the obnoxious, interfering cousin.”  
  
“You do the job better than Dudders,” said Harry.  
  
“Where does that leave Ron?”  
  
“Ron’s Dickon; he’s the one that pulls the shutters off Colin’s bedroom windows.”  
  
“It’s not really a fair comparison, because in the book Dickon doesn’t change. He’s not really real, you see, he’s more of an ideal.”  
  
“And Ron changes?”  
  
“Yes, thank God, he’s growing up.”  
  
“He’s still like Dickon. Some things about him don’t change. Important things.”  
  
“I know Harry, that’s why I love him.”  
  
Harry nodded. Her statement wasn’t as such that it demanded a verbal reply.  
  
After a while he nudged her knee with his. “So… you and Ron?”  
  
“Me and Ron.”  
  
“Does this mean you’ll stop bickering?”  
  
“I don’t think so, no, definitely not.”  
  
“Definitely not?”  
  
“Well the thing is Harry; Ron’s dead sexy when he’s angry.”  
  
Harry covered his eyes, and lay back on the planks. “Argh, Hermione I don’t think I can handle ‘sexy’ and ‘Ron’ in the same sentence.”  
  
Hermione lay back beside him, giggling. “I never thought I would say that.”  
  
“’Mione, huh?”  
  
“Better than Herm Herm.”  
  
“Thing is ‘Mione, I’ve heard Ron say it a few times over the years.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yeah,” said Harry casually. “Funny times, like in the middle of night when he’s supposed to be asleep, or in the shower.”  
  
“In the shower, why would he…” Harry wished he could have taken a picture of Hermione’s face before she swatted him hard in the stomach. “Don’t be gross, Potter!”  
  
Harry chuckled, and waited.  
  
“The thing is Harry, Ron and I; we don’t need to go through all the rituals.”  
  
“Rituals?”  
  
“Yes, you know all those nervous dates getting to know the other person, hoping they’ll like you, hoping nothing will go wrong.”  
  
“Been on a lot of those, have you?”  
  
“No, but I’ve read about them, and I’ve watched you go on a few.”  
  
“OK, OK, I get your point; you’ve done all those things with Ron, just as friends.”  
  
“Exactly. We’ve seen each other at our best and our worst.”  
  
“No surprises?”  
  
She didn’t say anything.  
  
“Hermione?”  
  
Hermione drew a deep breath. “Harry, do you think about sex?”  
  
“I thought I answered that question, ‘Mione.”  
  
“Does it scare you?”  
  
It was Harry’s turn to pause. “Does Ron want you to have sex?”  
  
“Yes and no.”  
  
“Yes and no?”  
  
“Yes, he wants to have sex. He’s a boy isn’t he? No…he hasn’t asked me, and I don’t think he will.”  
  
“It won’t change the way he feels about you, either way.”  
  
“That just makes it harder, Harry.”  
  
“I think you’re made for each other.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Really. In all honesty, you can be a bit obsessive, and Ron calms you down a bit, and Ron’s a little too laid back, and you kick him in the bum a bit.”  
  
“Don’t hold back Harry, tell me what you really think of us!”  
  
“I think I love both of you.”  
  
Hermione turned to see Harry’s blush.  
  
“He loves you too, you know? Me too.”  
  
“You know what I think Hermione? I think you’re going to marry Ron Weasley, I think you’re going to have seven or eight kids, all with freckles, and brown eyes, and the hair…the hair’s going to be an absolute mess.”  
  
“Will Uncle Harry come visit?”  
  
“How could I miss a sight like that?”  
  
“Will Aunt Ginny be with you?”  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“Don’t shut her out, Harry. Don’t go all noble, and end up hurting both of you.”  
  
“I don’t want her to be in danger.”  
  
“Everyone one’s at risk, Harry. Don’t make her feel worthless just because you want her to be safe.”  
  
“I’ll think about it.”  
  
“Of course if Aunt Ginny comes with Uncle Harry we will have to eat outside. What? With sixteen or seventeen children, your lot will have freckles of course, green eyes, and the hair…the hair’s going to be an absolute mess.”  
  
“Sounds grand.”  
  
A shadow fell over them, a heavy cloud obscuring the setting sun.  
  
“I think it’s going to rain again?” Harry said.  
  
“Let’s go inside then.”  
  
Harry stood up, and pulled Hermione to her feet.  
  
“Wait,” he said. Harry stooped to pick one of the wild flowers surrounding the pond, and tucked it into Hermione’s hair behind her ear. “Maybe the hair won’t be so bad,” he said.  
  
“Oh, it will be,” she replied, smiling.  
  
The rained started while they were still a little ways from the house, and they were forced to run, splashing through puddles old and new.  
  
Their carefree laughter woke Ron as they entered the living room.  
  
“Where’ve you been?” he asked rubbing the sleep from his eyes.  
  
“In the garden,” they replied.  
  
 _“In the garden, wet with rain.”_  
  
Fin.  
  
*****  
  
Next Chapter Blurp:  
  
“That’s What Big Brothers Are For.”  
  
Caught in mid-snog!  
  
Author’s note:  
1\. I was politely told that my chapter endings were a little too angtsy. How about this one?  
  
2\. No, the flowers in the hair are not even the tiniest bit H/HR. They’re just friends get it.  
  
Beta Notes:  
  
One of my favorite chapters, hope it’s the same for you. Enjoy and review!!! Thanks :]


	6. That's What Big Brothers Are For

That’s What Big Brothers Are For.  
  
By alloy  
  
“Oh!”  
  
William Weasley had fancied a fly, just a swoop around the back yard to clear his head, to calm his nerves ahead of his impending nuptials. He had headed out to the broom shed intending to borrow Ron’s relatively new Cleansweep, wondering if he could perhaps persuade Harry to let him have a go on his Firebolt.  
  
Lost in his own thoughts he had yanked open the door. The shed was now fairly filled with a bright yellow daisy embossed couch. On it, his youngest brother seemed intent on branding his mark on a young witch’s collarbone, with his mouth.  
  
“Ron?” she murmured.  
  
“Bloody hell!” said Ron, turning and blinking in the bright sunlight streaming through the door. “Can nobody in this bloody family knock?”  
  
The couple moved apart as Bill stepped into the shed and pulled the door closed behind him. Hermione rather reluctantly pulled her arm out from under Ron’s shirt, but apart from that Bill was somewhat pleased to note that they hadn’t progressed much beyond kissing.  
  
“Nice couch,” Bill said as he settled himself on the floor.  
  
“Hermione transfigured the old blankets,” said Ron, not just a little pride in his voice.  
  
“This isn’t the greatest place you know. Mum’ll catch you.”  
  
“She already caught us,” Ron said. “Now she’s put wards on my bedroom.”  
  
Bill chuckled. Their mother was nothing, if not consistent. “I can show you how to get around those.”  
  
“Oh, we know how to take them down, but it’s a bit of a pain to put them back when all we want is a little cuddle.”  
  
“Well, the broom shed’s not a good idea. Mum caught me in here with Sage Brown,” Bill chuckled. “She caught Charlie with her, too.”  
  
“The same girl?” Hermione asked.  
  
“Yup. Apparently had this thing for red heads.”  
  
“Her sister did too,” said Ron glumly.  
  
“Her sister?” Bill said. “Lavender? But she was only a little girl.”  
  
“She’s our age,” Hermione said. “I share a dorm with her. She had a little ‘fling’ with Ron.”  
  
Ron wasn’t quite quick enough to avoid Bill’s roundhouse to the back of the head.  
  
“Hey! What was that for?”  
  
“For taking up with a dizzy tart.”  
  
“You took up with her sister! Charlie, too.”  
  
“Neither of us had a beautiful, talented witch like Hermione around either.”  
  
Hermione blushed at Bill’s compliment. “It’s alright,” she said. “We’ve sorted things out.”  
  
“We Weasley men tend to be a bit thick sometimes.”  
  
“I’ve noticed.”  
  
“Don’t hold it against him.”  
  
“I can’t really. You Weasley men are also impossible to resist.”  
  
“Hey!”  
  
“What is it, Ronald?”  
  
“You’re flirting with my brother!”  
  
“Was I, Ronald? I hadn’t noticed.”  
  
Ron gathered Hermione into his arms. “Don’t you ‘Ronald’ me, Miss Granger.” Hermione giggled uncharacteristically.  
  
“Normally,” said Bill standing up, “I’d say get a room, but Mum makes that a bit awkward. Just don’t try the tree house, she always looks there first.”  
  
Before he could say anymore, the shed door was flung open again. “What’s going on here?” Mrs. Weasley had indeed found them.  
  
Bill caught the glint in Ron’s eye and decided in the interests of family harmony (such as it was) to intercept his mother.  
  
“I was just telling them about Sage Brown, Mum.”  
  
“That girl, she was a right little trollop taking up with Charlie after you broke it off with her. I caught them, right here in this very shed!”  
  
“I know, Mum,” said Bill, expertly turning his mother around and steering her out the shed. “You caught me too, remember?”  
  
“Yes, with your hand up her shirt, I…” Molly Weasley’s voice came to a halt as Bill deliberately closed the shed door. “William?”  
  
“They just want a little space, Mum.”  
  
“But…”  
  
“You know Hermione’s not going to let Ron do anything she’s uncomfortable with.”  
  
Bill was preparing himself for a battle of wills, when his mother leant forward in a conspiratorial fashion. “She’s perfect for him, isn’t she?”  
  
Without waiting for a reply, she continued, “You should have heard him when he first came home from Hogwarts; Hermione this and Hermione that, very clever, top of the class.” Molly raised a finger to her nose. “A mother knows.”  
  
“I remember Ron telling me about her when you visited me in Egypt.”  
  
“Oh, and the fuss he kicked up when he wanted Ginny’s extra World Cup ticket for her.”  
  
“You like her better than Fleur.”  
  
“I will not deny that, Bill. I would have much preferred you brought a nice English girl home, but Fleur and I understand each other now.” Mrs. Weasley sniffed hard to regain her composure. “Have you decided on a Best Man?”  
  
“I owled Charlie, yesterday. I also thought I’d ask the rest of them to stand up with me, as groomsmen.”  
  
“And?”  
  
The twins have agreed. Ron has too, so long as he doesn’t have to dance with any of the bridesmaids.”  
  
“Percy?”  
  
“I’ve owled him, Mum. It’s up to him. I can’t do anymore.”  
  
“What are you going to do, dear, about the dancing?”  
  
“Well, I’ve had no objections from the twins. I’m pretty sure Ron wouldn’t object to dancing with Ginny. That’s assuming she’s willing to have her toes stomped all over.”  
  
“Actually, Ron and Ginny dance very well together, much better than you and Charlie, but not as good as the twins.”  
  
Bill chuckled. “I can’t believe you made us do that?”  
  
“Served you well, hasn’t it? I wasn’t about to have my children disgrace themselves on the dance floor.”  
  
“Speaking of Ginny, Mum, have you seen her? Fleur wants to discuss a final dress fitting with her.”  
  
A furtive look came over his mother. “I’ll wager she’s with Harry, always sneaking off, worse than Ronald. I’d better find them.”  
  
Bill watched as his mother stalked off in favour of fresh prey.  
  
“Thanks, Bill,” said Ron who appeared beside him.  
  
“Hey, no problem.”  
  
“I don’t want you to get the wrong impression.”  
  
“About what?”  
  
“About Hermione. She’s not like Lavender and her sister.”  
  
“I never thought that, Ron.”  
  
“It’s just…just…” Bill took in the frustration on his brother’s face as he failed to find the words.  
  
“Shall we go down to the dock, Ron?”  
  
His brother nodded.  
  
“We’ve never talked much, Ron, but if you want to, we can and it stays between us.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
The brothers sat down on the dock hanging their legs over the pond.  
  
“I never thought Hermione was at all like the Brown girls, Ron. I’ve always thought she was something special, from the moment you told me about her.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Well, let’s see… you’re best friends with the legendary Harry Potter and the person you talk the most about is a Muggleborn witch named Hermione.”  
  
“Was I that obvious?”  
  
“Actually, I was a bit jealous. It’s hard to be friends with a girl.”  
  
“Bill?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“How did you know Fleur was the one?”  
  
“Oh no, Ron, I’m not going to answer that one.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because all I can tell you is a mouthful of cliches.” Bill tapped his brother on the chest. “You know the answer’s in there.”  
  
“She’s the one, Bill.”  
  
“Good, now what you going to do about it?”  
  
“Try not to stuff it up.”  
  
Bill laughed and clapped Ron on the back. “Those are probably the wisest words I’ve ever heard. I think I might have to make it my wedding vow. I, Bill Weasley, promise to try not to stuff it up!”  
  
“Bill, what do you think she’ll say if I ask her to marry me?”  
  
“You don’t think you’re a bit young?”  
  
“I don’t know if I’m going to get much older?”  
  
Bill nodded, like it or not his brother was in the middle of this war.  
  
“Ask her, Ron.”  
  
“What if she says no?”  
  
“Then ask her why? She’s the kind of girl who will give you an honest answer.”  
  
“That’s what I’m afraid of?”  
  
“From what I hear, you’re the sort of chap who overcomes his fears.”  
  
“Hah!”  
  
“I had a few conversations with Sirius Black before he died. He said you were one of the bravest men he’d ever met. Few boys your age would have put themselves between a convicted murderer and Harry Potter.”  
  
“He wasn’t really a murderer or any sort of danger to Harry at all.”  
  
“But you didn’t know that.”  
  
“It’s not important.”  
  
“Listen Ron, if you were brave enough to stand up to Sirius Black, surely you’re brave enough to talk to Hermione?”  
  
Ron laughed a sharp barking sound. “You don’t know Hermione Granger!”  
  
“Then you’ve got to ask yourself- ‘Is she worth it?’”  
  
“Of course she’s worth it?”  
  
“Well,” said Bill. “There’s your answer.”  
  
“Yeah, you’re right, Bill. I think I’m going to talk to her.”  
  
“You do that, but I’d think you had better get cleaned up before you speak to her.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
Bill very deliberately pushed Ron into the pond. “That’s what I mean.”  
  
Ron came up sputtering, a pond lily on his head, and mud all over his jeans. “Why did you do that?”  
  
Bill shrugged. “That’s what big brother’s are for.”  
  
Fin.  
  
******  
  
Next Chapter Blurp:  
  
“Guess Who?”  
  
Do you remember the movie? Well so does Dennis Granger.  
  
Author’s Note:  
  
1\. I couldn’t resist another jab at Lavender.


	7. Guess Who

Guess Who? Part 1.  
  
By alloy  
  
“I’m thinking Sidney Poitier.”  
  
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Dennis. You know the boy; you’ve watched him grow up.”  
  
Dennis Granger pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is how Spencer Tracy must have felt.”  
  
Sylvia Granger lowered her book and looked at her husband who had been conducting his amateur theatrics in the middle of their living room. “So are you going to feed them?”  
  
The question seemed to jolt her husband, “Huh! Who?”  
  
“Katharine Houghton and Sidney Poitier.” She shook her head. “Honestly Dennis, you’ve never even watched the film! RON AND HERMIONE will be here in three hours. You haven’t even taken the roast out.”  
  
“Maybe I’ll do baked beans on toast,” said her husband sullenly.  
  
“And embarrass her in front of her best friend?”  
  
“Alright, alright, I know when I’m beaten.” With a slump of his shoulders, Dennis beat an exaggerated shuffle toward the kitchen.  
  
Sylvia followed him as he took the roast from the freezer. He was about to place to roast in the microwave to defrost when he suddenly paused. “Does he eat pork? Do wizards eat pork?”  
  
Sylvia chuckled. “According to Hermione, he eats anything you put in front of him.”  
  
“Yes, but does he eat pork? There’s no time to get something else now.”  
  
“Molly gives him ham sandwiches, Dennis, for the train.”  
  
Dennis set the timer and turned back to his wife.  
  
“But we don’t know. It’s the cultural differences I worry about.”  
  
“Dennis, he’s an English boy, he’s not a stranger. Now this is the first young man she’s ever brought home, don’t make this difficult for her. She’s enjoyed the Weasley’s hospitality countless times, we need to reciprocate.”  
  
“She lives with them.”  
  
“Yes, dear, we agreed that it would be safer.”  
  
“I’m beginning to have second thoughts about that.”  
  
“Now, Dennis, Molly assured me that Hermione was sharing Ginny’s room and that she was taking magical precautions to stop any hi-jinks.” Sylvia lowered her voice to a gossipy whisper. “Apparently Harry and Ginny are something of an item.”  
  
“Is Harry coming too?” Dennis asked, in the manner of a condemned man grasping at straws.  
  
“No, just Ron.”  
  
Dennis slumped against the kitchen counter. “He’s coming to steal my little girl away.”  
  
“You know, Dennis, the local Drama society is putting on the perfect play for this situation.”  
  
“Really? It must be a tragedy. I know, ‘King Lear.’ Or even better ‘Othello.’”  
  
“No dear, neither of those.”  
  
“What then?”  
  
“Much Ado About Nothing.”  
  
*  
  
Three hours later.  
  
A loud thump precipitated the voices. Sylvia Granger paused outside her daughter’s bedroom.  
  
“You didn’t have to push.”  
  
“I’m sorry, ‘Mione, but I couldn’t let you do all the work.”  
  
“Mione?” Sylvia thought. “That’s something we didn’t consider when we chose her name.”  
  
“I am the licensed apparator, Ronald. The side along apparator is not supposed to do anything.”  
  
“I’m not small, ‘Mione, I just thought a small push…  
  
“That was a small push?”  
  
“Just a little one, I didn’t even think you’d notice.”  
  
“Ron, I almost splinched us; your little push almost lost me control.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Luv, I really am. I just wanted to help.”  
  
“Luv?” Sylvia felt as if her ears had pointed up like a Jack Russell Terrier’s.  
  
“Ron, do you push harder when you try to apparate?”  
  
“Oh, yeah, a lot harder.”  
  
“Don’t. Your little push should be more than adequate.”  
  
Suddenly Sylvia heard a popping sound.  
  
“Ron, you didn’t have to do it straight away. Honestly, you’re worse than your brothers, apparating across the room like that.”  
  
“I just needed to try it, Luv, and it worked. You’re ten times better than that silly man from the Ministry.”  
  
“To be fair, Ron, he didn’t have you ‘push’ him on a side along apparition.”  
  
“Nonsense, you’re marvelous.”  
  
Sylvia could almost feel her daughter’s modest blush. She silently admonished herself for eavesdropping and took two silent steps away from the room.  
  
“Hermione, honey, are you home?” ‘Mione’ and ‘Luv’ would be filed away for a quiet discussion with Dennis later.  
  
“Sure Mum. We just arrived.”  
  
Hermione emerged from the bedroom, closely followed by Ron. Sylvia gave her daughter a kiss and turned toward her companion.  
  
“Hi, Mrs. Granger.”  
  
“He’s not a boy anymore,” she thought. “Hello, Ron. Good to see you again.” There was some awkwardness. Sylvia Granger was not a small woman, but still had to stand on her tiptoes, as Ron lowered his head, to kiss him on the cheek, as she did so she couldn’t help but catch his scent. Her flush was thankfully unnoticed by Ron who passed Hermione on the stairs.  
  
Her daughter caught her eye. “Mum?”  
  
“He smells nice, dear.”  
  
“I’m in love with him, Mum.”  
  
Sylvia honestly wasn’t surprised. Her only daughter’s openness had shocked her somewhat, but deep down she had known the feelings Hermione harbored for best friend.  
  
“Darling, I couldn’t help overhear…”  
  
“We’ve both been a little silly, Mum, but we’re past that now.”  
  
Sylvia wrapped Hermione in a hug. “He’s a good boy.”  
  
“He’s a man, Mum. I’m sure you noticed.”  
  
Sylvia blushed again. “We had best get down stairs, darling, your father has been in a grumpy mood all afternoon.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Let just say that you come by your attraction for red heads, honestly, and that your father’s had his eye on Ron from the day he met him.”  
  
*  
  
Dennis stuck an old knitting needle into the roast. It was almost done. He turned down the heat on the electric frying pan and began adding potatoes; the fat of the pork roast would add flavor to them as they roasted. The afternoon spent preparing the meal had given him time to think.  
  
It was one thing to harbor a friendly grudge against Bob Carmichael for having asked Sylvia out before he had had the guts to. It was quite another to direct that into a serious animosity toward his daughter’s young friend.  
  
It wasn’t even as if he had a problem with Bob. Bob had been, still was in fact, Dennis’s best friend. It had only taken him two dates with Sylvia for them both to realize that they held no romantic inclination for each other and he had stood aside to allow Dennis to make his move. A very permanent move as it turned out.  
  
It was only many years later when their daughter had sent home a photograph of her new friends that Sylvia admitted her attraction for red headed men. Dennis took a rather cruel glee in the fact that his daughter’s Godfather now sported rather less hair than shiny skull, but the boy in the photo had vibrant locks. He needed to be watched.  
  
“Dr. Granger?”  
  
His nemesis! “Evening, Ron,” Dennis said brightly. “Have a good trip over?”  
  
The boy’s face fell. “Not really,” he said. “I pushed, you see, I really shouldn’t have, Hermione’s the one with the license. I could have splinched us.”  
  
Dennis shook his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t understand a word you said.”  
  
  
  
“We came by apparition. Ummm… I’ll show you.”  
  
Suddenly Ron disappeared with a ‘POP’ and reappeared next to Dennis who staggered back in surprise. “My god,” he said. “How did you do that?”  
  
“That’s just it,” Ron said. “I couldn’t until just now when Hermione told me how to do it.”  
  
“Hermione can do that?”  
  
“Of course,” said Ron, “she’s licensed.”  
  
“And you’re not. So you can stop popping around the kitchen trying to impress my Dad.”  
  
“Honestly, ‘Mione,’ I was just trying to explain how we got here.”  
  
Dennis watched the two young people square off, there was no doubt in his mind. They were in love.  
  
“Let’s eat,” he said brightly.  
  
*  
  
“One of the great things about being the cook, Ron, is that you don’t have to wash up,” said Dennis, rather pompously. “Let’s go through to the living room for a drink shall we?”  
  
Without waiting for a reply Dennis led Ron through to the living room.  
  
“I know both you and Hermione are both adults by your custom, Ron, but I do feel a bit uncomfortable offering you hard liquor. I’m having a whisky, perhaps a beer or a glass of wine?”  
  
“Do you have any butterbeer, sir?”  
  
“Afraid not, no sugary carbonated drinks, either. A fruit juice?”  
  
“Yes, please.”  
  
“Sir,” said Ron as Dennis handed him a glass. “You know there’s a war on?”  
  
Dennis nodded. “Your father has kept us informed in the last two years. A little too informed if truth be told.”  
  
“Sir, I want to marry your daughter.”  
  
Dennis didn’t choke, though he certainly came close. He swallowed his mouthful of whisky.  
  
“Because there’s a war on?”  
  
“The war’s what makes it so urgent. I know I want to marry her, I’ve known that for some time. If there was no war I’d wait until we had finished school, until I had a job, but with the war, if something happens to me…”  
  
“There’s a benefit to being your widow?”  
  
“There’s no money sir, but there’s protection. As it stands, my Mum, Dad, my brother’s would all look after her, but if something happened to them…well let’s just say if she were my widow, the whole Weasley clan would look after her.”  
  
“If she chooses to take that protection.”  
  
“It’s the best I can do, sir.”  
  
“It’s still her decision, Ron. My daughter’s not chattel. I don’t know how it is in your culture, but in my world a girl has a choice. I could possibly prevent her from marrying until she were twenty one, but I can’t make her marry anyone.”  
  
“SIR! I am a Weasley! We have never! We will never…use that sort of magic!” Ron’s sudden anger was startling.  
  
“Calm down, Ron, I wasn’t suggesting any such thing,” Dennis paused. “There is that sort of magic?”  
  
“It’s illegal, sir, but some people still do it.”  
  
“The people you’re fighting against?” Ron nodded. “Would being married afford some protection?”  
  
“A little. I’m not sure how much.”  
  
“Any permission I give, Ron, is simply a blessing. You understand that? The decision is still Hermione’s.”  
  
“I understand, sir. I can’t anyway if she doesn’t agree.”  
  
“Very well, let’s do this properly.” Dennis recharged their drinks and held his glass out in the manner of a toast. Ron raised his and they clunked them together.  
  
“Well, Ron Weasley, I give you permission to marry my daughter.”  
  
“That’s nice! When were either of you going to inform me?” They both turned and Dennis saw a familiar anger in his daughter's eyes.  
  
“Did he ask for a dowry, Dad?”  
  
“’Mione wait…”  
  
“I thought this was England, I thought I had rights!”  
  
“Now listen, Hermione, I just finished explaining…”  
  
“I thought you respected me, Ron, I really did,” and with a loud pop she vanished.  
  
“Bugger! She’s bloody mental!” Ron vanished too.  
  
Dennis looked at Sylvia.  
  
‘Bugger’ had pretty much said it all.  
  
Well maybe not…..  
  
Part Two:  
  
“A skilled apparator can transport themselves into close proximity of a loved one, without actually knowing the location. This is especially useful for mothers trying to locate lost children.”  
  
She had marked it for his attention in the small apparition manual.  
  
A puff of air in her face signaled his arrival. Hermione smiled in the darkness. He had actually read it.  
  
It couldn’t have been more than a minute. In all honesty he had followed her within thirty seconds.  
  
He tripped over something. “Bugger! LUMOS!” The space lit up, revealing the broom shed.  
  
Ron joined her on the yellow couch they had left behind a day or so earlier. He reached for her hand and grabbed it. Hermione chose not to pull away. “NOX.”  
  
The darkness and silence made the distant between them seem like an eternity. She held his clammy hand more tightly.  
  
At last he spoke. “I didn’t ask for a dowry. I’d probably pay for you if your father asked.”  
  
“Chattel!” she spat out.  
  
“I’d pay to set you free. That’s what a friend would do.”  
  
Hermione refused to say anything.  
  
“You’re angry because I didn’t tell you what I was going to do. You’re angry because I haven’t actually asked you.”  
  
“What if I don’t want to?”  
  
Ron sighed. “You don’t think that thought’s been worrying me for days? Damn it, ‘Mione, I’m trying so hard to find ways to protect us, to find ways to protect you if something happens to me…”  
  
“Nothing is going to happen to you! And besides I don’t need protecting.”  
  
His hand found her chin in the darkness. “We both know I’d take that curse for Harry.”  
  
“You won’t have to.”  
  
“If both Harry and I fall, there will be no one left to protect you.”  
  
“I’ll be with you. I’ll probably die, too.”  
  
“But if you didn’t, you’d need a magical refuge.”  
  
“Ron, I’m sure your folks will…”  
  
“You won’t be able to get in.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You won’t be able to apparate in, or floo in, or even walk in. After the wedding, after we leave, Dad’s gonna raise the wards.”  
  
“But the wards are raised, I can get in now.”  
  
“He’s going to raise the ancient wards.”  
  
“Ward magic, I’ve read about it, it doesn’t need wands. That’s like Parseltongue, its hereditary…”  
  
“It’s Weasley magic.”  
  
“It said the Wards are impenetrable, only those ‘of the blood of the caster’ can pass through.” Hermione gasped. “They can stop a killing curse.”  
  
“That’s why you looked them up isn’t it?”  
  
“Yes, but if they can stop the killing curse then….”  
  
“All Harry has to do is be a prisoner at the Burrow for the rest of his life.”  
  
“Like you want me to be!”  
  
“No! There are two exceptions to the wards, the wife and the child. The wife can come and go as she pleases; it’s in her wedding ring, a portion of her husband’s soul.”  
  
“A Horcrux?”  
  
“Not like that. A wife has a portion of her husband’s soul anyway, his love. Their love actually, it’s got to work both ways. That’s why Weasley’s only marry for love. That’s why mum wasn’t happy with Fleur, until…”  
  
“Until she proved she loved Bill.”  
  
“That’s right.”  
  
“You said there was another way, the child?”  
  
“An adoption.”  
  
“If your Dad adopted Harry?”  
  
“It only works with small children. It’s a very complicated spell, it somehow changes them, it makes them Weasleys. Their children are Weasleys.” Hermione could sense Ron shaking his head in the darkness. “I don’t think it would have worked on Harry anyway.”  
  
“What if Harry married Ginny?”  
  
“That would work. At least as far as I can figure.”  
  
“We have to tell Harry.”  
  
“It’s not our place ‘Mione. It’s not something we can control. I can’t force them to love each other, anymore than I can force you to love me.”  
  
“But I do love you.”  
  
Ron continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “Your Dad asked about binding spells. The old families use them, you know, the Black’s, the Malfoy’s, like they’re trying to breed superwizards or something. I told your Dad that Weasley’s didn’t use that sort of magic. We can’t, it would tear us apart.”  
  
“Ron, when I’m close to you, I feel safe. Is that part of the Ward magic?”  
  
“I don’t do it on purpose, it just sort of leaks out, you wouldn’t feel it if I didn’t love you.”  
  
“I bet Harry feels it, too.”  
  
“Probably, it’s the reason most people feel safe at the Burrow, especially when the house is full.”  
  
Hermione allowed Ron to draw her closer.  
  
“I’m sorry for talking to your dad like that. I wasn’t planning to, it just sort of happened.”  
  
“Ron, it’s just the idea that I don’t have a say. That you can just waltz in and chat to my Dad and it’s done. I can believe my dad actually gave you permission. I mean my dad…”  
  
“Those were just words, ‘Mione. Your Dad made it perfectly clear that it was your choice.”  
  
“Perhaps I was a bit harsh.”  
  
“You were bloody mental.”  
  
Hermione put her arms around his torso, resting her head against his chest. “Do you think we should go back and apologize?”  
  
“I think you need to go back and apologize. I’m just going back to watch.”  
  
“Ok, I guess I should.” She breathed in deeply taking in Ron’s scent and suddenly giggled.  
  
“What’s so funny?”  
  
“My Mom. When she kissed you...”  
  
“Why is that funny?”  
  
“I caught her sniffing you.”  
  
“Do I smell bad? I had a shower especially before we left.”  
  
“No, silly.” Hermione breathed deeply again. “You smell wonderful.” Another giggle. “Mum thought so, too.” Then she vanished with a pop.  
  
Ron’s ears were still red when he appeared in the Granger living room.  
  
  
  
Fin  
  
***  
  
Next Chapter Blurp:  
  
Beautifully Damaged  
  
Author’s note:  
1\. It really irked me that Ron didn’t get his license.


	8. Beautiful Disaster

**Midnight Confessions Chapter 8: Beautiful Disaster.**  
  
By alloy  
  
 _For Sandy my Beta_  
  
She would say she was getting tired of it, but she would be lying. Every time she found herself alone with Harry, every time their lips met, and his hands roamed her body, she thought it might be the last time. Her love was ending.  
  
Her brother’s was beginning. Ron and Hermione were going through much the same motions as she and Harry; sometimes competing with each other for places of privacy.  
  
Ginny glanced across the room at Hermione; her brother’s love was nervously preparing to take him to dinner at her parents.  
  
Ron had a name for her, an intimate name that seemed to send shivers through Hermione when he used it. A name he jealously guarded, threatening to box George’s ear when that brother sought to mock it. Ron’s love, Ron’s life with Hermione was definitely beginning.  
  
It was so unfair, Ron was older than her, it was so unfair. Why did Harry have to be such a beautiful disaster?  
  
“Hermione?”  
  
“Ready to go, Ron?”  
  
Ron laughed nervously. “As good as I’m going to get.”  
  
The chestnut haired witch took Ron’s hand and led him away. “We’ll just tell your mum that we’re going. Bye, Gin.”  
  
Ron wiggled his eyebrows at Ginny even as Hermione pulled him out the room. “Don’t wait up.”  
  
 _“Don’t wait up.”_  
  
Harry Potter was a complete and utter disaster. He made Ron look practically perfect. Harry was asleep now; he had taken to sleeping at odd hours. Ron had said it was some of the old nightmares returning, the ones he had had when he first arrived at Hogwarts. Witnessing the death of the headmaster had resurrected his barely imagined memories of his parent’s deaths.  
  
Ginny clicked open the ballpoint pen Hermione had carelessly given away, she pulled a piece parchment towards herself and began to write:  
  
She wrote about Harry, she wrote in rhyme, almost in response to some primitive human rhythm. The Harry Potter she knew, the boy, not the legend, seemed almost like a damned soul.  
  
Ron and Hermione were trying to save him. They had been for six years. Merlin knew how many hours Ron had laid awake watching Harry sleep. He had even tried to ward Harry’s bed, using drops of his own blood at Grimmauld place, at the Burrow, and quite possibly in the boy’s dormitory at Hogwarts. The twins had noticed, but wisely kept their council. At the Burrow, Ginny had added her own blood to Ron’s for all the good it did, the nightmares persisted.  
  
Was Harry damned? Would loving him damn her? Harry probably thought that, the stupid noble bloody fool.  
  
Loving Harry couldn’t damn her, any more than Ron loving Hermione made his blood impure, not unless she let it. Ginny bent her head forward and wrote again:  
  
 _She felt as if she were spilling her soul out onto the paper, as if all of her sixteen years were flowing out of her, regressing her, taking parts of her life away, taking away the tears and the laughter, taking away Harry Potter, taking away that flawed handsome young man, taking away the myth and legend, though in truth she had discarded that years ago, but still leaving the hurt behind._  
  
Ginny felt the tears well up in her eyes, it was easier to let them fall onto the parchment; the marks of the muggle pen were far more resilient than the traditional quill. Perhaps Hermione used this pen for much the same reason, while she was crying over Ron. Despite herself Ginny giggled. Hermione must have used these muggle pens a lot over the years.  
  
 _“Did you always know it was Ron?” Ginny had asked._  
  
“Yes,” Hermione had replied.  
  
“When did you know?”  
  
“From the beginning -- from before the beginning.”  
  
“From before you met him?”  
  
“Does that sound silly, Ginny?”  
  
“No, just sad,” Ginny had drawn a deep breath. “So you’ve always cried over Ron, never over Harry?”  
  
“I’ve cried for Harry, Ginny, you can’t know Harry and not want to cry for him.” Hermione had reached for Ginny’s hands. “All the stories that they tell about him, Ginny, all the myths they’ve built around him. They always ignore the tragedy, the sadness; they always seem to end up doing more damage. Ron’s the only one who’s ever helped at all. Ron and you.”  
  
“I want to help him, Hermione, but he’s shutting me out.”  
  
“Then hold on tight.”  
  
“Hold on tight,” Ginny wrote.  
  
“Tight – Tight –Tight”  
  
How could she? Harry kept on slipping out of her grasp. That was his talent really, to escape death, and Voldemort, and Privet drive. How long before he escaped the Burrow and her? Would he escape Ron and Hermione, too? Leave them hurt and wondering where he was? Would Ron cry over Harry like Hermione? Perhaps he had already?  
  
Sometimes Ginny wished she were a boy, like her brothers, that she could grab Harry and shake some sense into him.  
  
“Of course,” thought Ginny, smiling wryly through her tears. “If I were a boy I wouldn’t be crying over Harry Potter, would I?”  
  
Ginny scribbled on, heedless that her tears were making even the resilient ink of the ballpoint pen unintelligible. “I should be more like my brothers. I know what I want, I should hang onto it.”  
  
Ginny smiled again. “Like a limpid, like Lavender Brown desperately clinging to Ron, only,” thought Ginny, “with class, if that’s possible.” Perhaps it wasn’t.  
  
Sighing, Ginny moved away from the desk to her mirror.  
  
“Your friend was very happy,” her mirror said. “But you’re not.”  
  
Ron was making Hermione happy, he hadn’t always, he was trying so hard, almost all the family had noticed. Her father, Ginny had noticed, had taken to carrying a book on muggle weddings around, comparing the preparations for Bill’s wedding to the “  
Muggle Way  
.”  
  
It was funny really, in an age where many pureblood wizards would be horrified at the thought of their child marrying a Muggleborn; her father was positively drooling at the thought.  
  
Her parents had also sensed that something was amiss with Harry, that Harry’s intensity bordered on resignation, their kisses, the last meal of a condemned man. One last disaster.  
  
“We’re both disasters,” Ginny thought. “I’m the only girl in the family, the smallest, the youngest, the weakest, the victim. I’m as much of a disaster as Harry.”  
  
“Well then you deserve each other,” It was Ron’s voice, unbidden in her head. “Two disasters cancel each other out.”  
  
That was precisely the sort of logic that made Hermione roll her eyes at him, but sometimes, just sometimes, Ron got it right.  
  
Ginny looked again at the tear stained parchment.  
  
Suddenly she began to passionately tear it up. “Damn you, Harry Potter! You may be a bloody disaster, but you’re my bloody disaster, and I’m not letting you get away. I can be just as stubborn a bloody Weasley as any of my bloody brothers!”  
  
“Language, dear,” the mirror admonished, and Ginny threw the scraps of parchment at it in response.  
  
“He’s my beautiful disaster,” she said before crying herself to sleep.  
  
*  
  
It was late when Hermione returned to the room. The trip to her parent’s house had resulted in some unexpected revelations, and Ron---Ron continued to surprise.  
  
It was the scraps of parchment at the base of the mirror that attracted Hermione’s attention. With a flick of her wand she reconstructed the parchment and a few more passes brought clarity to the smudged and blurred words.  
  
Ginny had written this. Hermione had known the younger girl long enough to recognise her handwriting. Hermione also knew first hand what effects tears had on ink.  
  
It was really beautiful what she had written and Hermione felt it was a great shame that it had been destroyed.  
  
The final words Ginny had written stuck in Hermione’s mind.  
  
“Mine!”  
  
That’s what it sounded like when Ron called her by her pet name, “’Mione!” When he would suddenly break off a kiss and growl it in her ear, “’Mione,” making her go weak at the knees.  
  
’Mione! Mine! Ron and Ginny were far more alike than either of them would care to admit. Ginevra Weasley hadn’t given up on Harry Potter, and in Hermione’s opinion she wasn’t about to either.  
  
With great care Hermione folded the piece of parchment, and locked it away in her trunk. Ginny would need this later, once she had tamed her disaster.  
  
Fin.  
  
***  
  
1\. This Chapter was inspired by the song Beautiful Disaster sung by Kelly Clarkson and written by Rebekah Jordan & Matthew Wilder written at my Beta’s request.  
  
2\. This is a revised version of this chapter, the Checkmated council deemed the original version to be a Song-Fic, and asked that revisions be made. The original version of this chapter, including the lyrics for the song can be found here: http://www.alloy.co.za/Index-MCC8.htm  
  
Beta’s note:  
  
I have to give soo many thanks to alloy for taking this request on! This is a special chapter for me as the idea for this fic has haunted me from the minute I heard this song, well over 8 months ago, so to see it finally come alive so brilliantly means soo much. I love this song and for all those readers who are familiar with it, you know how beautiful it is to hear. I can’t help but listen to the lyrics every time and relate this back to Ginny and Harry’s relationship. I feel it’s scary how close it comes to describing Harry (ie- “He’s magic and myth…”) And since I couldn’t find a way to write it myself for fear of screwing it up, I finally had the nerve to ask alloy for his opinion. He graciously took my idea, found a way to fit it in his story, and here it is! I can only hope that you love it as much as I do. Thanks again, alloy!! Thanks for reading and please… Review. :]


	9. Secrets

Midnight Confessions 9 – Secrets  
  
By alloy  
  
Hermione was rather proud of her little spell, it allowed light to fall over her bed without disturbing her roommate, Ginny Weasley, in the slightest. How magic apparently defied the laws of physics in the process, she didn’t care. This tatty and admittedly uncomfortable bed was one of the happiest she had ever slept in and right now Hermione Granger’s life was spread across it in pictures. It was pitiful really, how few there were.  
  
There were two from before Hogwarts. She couldn’t even remember the first one being taken. It was her second birthday and even then her hair was a mad mess. She looked so happy in the photo, on her godfather’s shoulders clinging to his hair, while Uncle Bob manfully trying not to display pain in the photo would later playfully blame her for his baldness.  
  
The second was taken just before she left for Hogwarts, a class photo. She knew none of the children sitting around her in the photo, not in any real sense, though her mother had insisted on keeping her informed of their lives.  
  
Mark Pullen, a spry blond boy had been killed last year in a car accident with his older brother. Sarah Jenkins, was in an institution for drug addiction. Kogie Pillay had apparently suicided on the eve of her arranged marriage to a man twice her age. Hermione Granger was desperately in love with her best friend.  
  
The next photo had been taken at Hogwarts. Hagrid had arranged it; for an album he was preparing for Harry. It was a wizard photo. Harry stood in front and she and Ron behind. It was a happy photo, all of them laughing and smiling. What you couldn’t see was Ron struggling to make rude signs above Harry’s head, while she tried to hold his hand down. If Hermione watched the photo long enough she could almost always catch Ron’s blush of embarrassment.  
  
There were other photos of Hogwarts; happy times for the most part, most of them taken by young Colin Creevey who was trying to make a portfolio to get his dream job as a photo journalist.  
  
One in particular was her favourite. It had been late in the Gryffindor common room. Colin had figured out how to take pictures without the annoying flash. He had captured Ron leaning over a desk assisting a first year student with his essay. As she watched, Ron leant back, stretching. Ron’s lips moved and though there was no sound in the photo she knew he was saying, “Got it, Shortie?” The younger boy nodded in appreciation and Ron tousled his hair in a friendly fashion before the photo started again.  
  
The last photo had been taken earlier in the evening with her parents instant camera. It was a photo just of Ron and herself. She looked happy in the photo and she was. It was the look of grim determination behind Ron’s smile that scared her. At a certain level Hermione felt sure that her father hadn’t taken Ron’s request seriously or that she, Hermione, would balk at the idea of getting married at seventeen.  
  
Ron was going to ask her, the look on his face told her that. What would her answer be? Could she bind herself to this man for the rest of her life?  
  
Hermione looked at the photos again, the sad little girl in the Muggle School, the laughing, struggling tussle behind an unsuspecting Harry’s back. Ron the prefect helping a youngster for no other reason than it was the right thing to do and Ron the man holding her tight to his side. Hermione extinguished her wand and slipped the photos under her pillow. She had no choice, really, the alternative was unthinkable.  
  
*  
  
It was still dark when Ron Weasley apparated into Fred and George’s flat. He hadn’t slept a wink all night, after he and Hermione had returned from apologizing to her parents. They had kissed for a bit, in the Burrow living room, until his mother had appeared and scurried them off to bed.  
  
How could anybody have expected him to sleep?  
  
Glancing at his watch, Ron realized that his brother’s probably wouldn’t be awake for another couple of hours. He settled onto their couch and his eyes were drawn to the faint glow in the corner of the living room.  
  
He had never looked, but Ron knew that on the floor, there was scratched a representation of his brothers’ flat. The Burrow and practically every Weasley residence in England all boasted something similar, the Wards. The glow indicated that the Wards were raised, though Ron didn’t need to be told that. This magic was in his blood; he had known from the moment he had materialized.  
  
‘They’re probably up permanently,’ he thought and smiled wryly to himself; the twins booby trapped their wards. Anybody foolish enough to apparate into their flat would be in for a fate far worse than simple splinching.  
  
Still the amber glow was hypnotic and Ron hadn’t slept the whole night…  
  
*  
  
“RON!”  
  
Ron’s eyes snapped open and he reached for his wand.  
  
“Merlin! Ron, you gave me a fright!”  
  
“Angelina?” The voice certainly hadn’t been Fred’s.  
  
Ron’s former school Quidditch Captain, Angelina Johnson, was dressed unlike Ron had ever seen her before. A Cannons shirt which Ron recognised to be one of his brother’s and as far as Ron could tell, not much else. The shirt hung down to the middle of a very shapely thigh, which Ron found himself staring at.  
  
“Like what you see?”  
  
Ron quickly raised his gaze to her eyes., “Sorry.”  
  
“Don’t worry, I sometimes forget you’re not just Fred’s little brother.” She turned toward the kitchenette at the end of the living room. “Would you like some coffee?”  
  
“Please.”  
  
Angelina brought out two mugs and then reached up to get the coffee, which proved to be just out of her reach. Before she could struggle further, Ron had fetched it down for her.  
  
“Thanks,” she said. “Why are you here so early?”  
  
“I couldn’t sleep. I need to ask the twins something.” He shrugged. “I didn’t realize it was so early.”  
  
Angelina poured the milk into the coffee before throwing the empty bottle into the rubbish bin. “George never remembers to get milk,” she muttered handing Ron a mug. “So what is it you want to ask them?”  
  
“A good question, my love,” said another voice before Ron could reply. “What indeed would Icckle Ronnikins want with us?” Fred snatched up the second mug of coffee as he entered the kitchenette area.  
  
“That was the last of the milk, Weasley.”  
  
“Best go get some then,” said Fred.  
  
Then he gentled his voice. “Let me have a quiet word with Ron, OK?”  
  
Angelina nodded and moved to get past Fred. As she did so, he slapped her on the backside. “And put some clothes on, we don’t want the whole store getting an eyeful.”  
  
“Stuff it, Fred.”  
  
“Women,” said Fred as Angelina entered the bedroom. “Can’t live with them, can’t keep ‘em in herds.”  
  
“I heard that!” came from the room, followed by a popping sound signaling her departure to the store.  
  
“I need to borrow some money.”  
  
“OK, how much?”  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“Alright, what for?”  
  
“I…I can’t tell you.”  
  
“Are you in trouble, Ron?”  
  
“No, I just need some money is all.”  
  
“Is Lavender pregnant?”  
  
“What! I…She… We never!”  
  
“Alright, alright, no need for the details. Hermione’s too clever to fall pregnant, so I really can’t figure out why you need money, Ron.”  
  
“Listen, I…” Ron was interrupted by the reappearance of Angelina, who had apparated directly into the kitchen with a bottle of milk in her left hand.  
  
“Hey!”  
  
“Hey! Yourself, Ron,” Angelina replied.  
  
“Why aren’t you splinched?”  
  
“I know how to apparate, Ron. I got my license along with Fred and George.”  
  
“You just apparated through the wards, I know they’re up. I can feel them. You should have been splinched or knowing the twins…worse, unless…” Ron suddenly grabbed Angelina’s wrist, almost causing her to drop the milk. “Clever to put a glamour over it,” he said, as the fingers of his other hand found the ring. “When did you do it?”  
  
“A week after Dumbledore’s funeral,” said Fred. “We were going to announce our engagement after Bill’s wedding, but when Dumbledore died, there didn’t seem much point in waiting.”  
  
Ron released Angelina’s arm. “Who knows?”  
  
“Just George, Lee, and now you.”  
  
“Mum’s going to kill you when she finds out.”  
  
Fred caught Ron’s shoulder. “Listen Ron; don’t think you can use this to blackmail us. We’re all adults now; we can’t afford to play those sorts of games anymore. If you’ve got a problem, Ron, tell us and we’ll help you, but we have to know what it is.”  
  
“I never thought about blackmailing you, Fred, it’s just… you’ve done exactly what I want to do. I’m going to marry Hermione.”  
  
Fred stared at Ron and slowly and carefully finished his coffee. “You’re both so young.”  
  
“We’re both seventeen.”  
  
“We knew at seventeen, Fred,” said Angelina quietly.  
  
Fred nodded.  
  
“That’s what I need the money for. To get a ring.”  
  
“Are you going to tell Mum and Dad?”  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“What about her father?”  
  
“I’ve got his blessing.”  
  
“It must be rough on them.”  
  
Ron sighed. “Yeah, she’s their only child…Dad’s talked to them, kept them informed, but it’s like we’ve kidnapped her or something.”  
  
Fred paused to stare at Ron as if measuring his resolve.  
  
“Why do you want to do this now?”  
  
“Why did you do it?”  
  
“To protect Angelina if something were to happen to me, of course!” said Fred.  
  
“Well, then it’s the same reason for me.”  
  
“To protect Angelina?”  
  
“No, you daft idiot. To protect Hermione!”  
  
Fred chuckled. “Just checking, Ronnikins, just checking.”  
  
Ron rolled his eyes in frustration.  
  
“Well, do you think Hermione will accept your proposal?”  
  
Ron sat back wearily in his chair. “I haven’t slept all night just thinking about it. We’ve discussed it. I’ve told her about the wards and stuff, but muggles don’t get married at seventeen. Not proper ones, anyway.”  
  
“And your Hermione’s proper all right.”  
  
“But I have to take that chance, Fred. This is too important to me. Like you said, we can’t play games anymore.”  
  
“Spoken like a true Weasley,” said Fred smiling proudly. “Listen, lets talk to George and we’ll see if we can’t get you set up, little brother.”  
  
Ron let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Thanks, Fred.”  
  
“’Thanks Fred’ for what?” said George. The twins voices, as always, a strange echo of one another’s.  
  
“Ickle Ronnikins needs some money.”  
  
“You have of course, brother mine, set a suitably high rate of interest?”  
  
“Nope. We’re giving it to him.”  
  
“What?” George choked on the coffee that Angelina had just handed him.  
  
Fred sighed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, George, but some things are more important than money.”  
  
Angelina had to pound on George’s back for quite some time.  
  
Fin  
  
****  
  
Next Chapter Blurp:  
  
Well is he, or isn’t he? Find out Ron Weasley’s next move in ‘Ironies.’  
  
Author’s Note:  
1\. I hit a wall half way through this chapter and emailed to Sandy in desperation saying “Where to now?” So thanks to Sandy for coming to my rescue.  
  
2\. The twins often get portrayed as being a bit mercenary, especially toward Ron, but when he got poisoned they were right there at his bedside. Having Fred already adopt a course of action that Ron is contemplating, serves to emphasise at a certain level that they are their fathers’ sons and share core values.  
  
Beta’s Notes:  
  
Thanks to alloy for graciously allowing me to put my two cents worth into this chapter. Another special chapter for me. :]


	10. Ironies

  
Author's notes: A simple proposal  


* * *

Midnight Confessions-Chap 09: Ironies

 

By alloy

 

There was strength in the stones, a wall that was ancient even before Hogwarts castle was built, steeped in the magic of its builders and their descendants. A magic that defied Roman road builders, causing them to build a curved path. A magic that has also defied modern engineers with their quantity surveyors and satellite imaging, even though on the map the road looked straight.

 

Arthur Weasley followed the curve of the road with his eye. In the distance he could see the muggle motor way, the main muggle artery to London. There was an off ramp onto this curved straight road.

 

Arthur ran his hand over the top of the wall. Some of his magic was in the wall and that of his children, and through them their mother. Generation upon generation of Weasley’s making an indelible magical mark on the world.

 

There was blood too, his own spilled consciously when he became the caretaker of these lands, and that of his youngest son, spilled in an apparent accident a mere week after his fifth birthday. There was a small scar on Ronald’s knee and an equally small stain on the stone, defiant of twelve years of weathering, as if marking this place, a place where Arthur came to think.

 

Arthur Weasley didn’t believe in coincidence, not since his son had met Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.

 

“Dad?”

 

He has a presence now, only seventeen years old and already taller than his father.

 

“Did Mum send you?”

 

“Not yet. You’ve got a while still.”

 

“What brings you out here, son? I thought you had a young lady to entertain.”

 

A glimmer of a smile flashed across his son’s features. 

 

“Dad, do you approve of her? You and mum?”

 

“Do you really want my opinion, son?”

 

“Yeah, I guess. I mean it would be nice if you did.”

 

“It wouldn’t make a stitch of difference though, would it?”

 

Ron shook his head and laid his own hand on the wall. Arthur felt the magic in the wall responding to the touch, acknowledging- ‘My Son.’

 

“I think you should put the gate here, son.”

 

“Dad?”

 

“The driveway should be easy enough.” Arthur waited for Ron to follow the direction of his gaze. “Make the place accessible for your London visitors.”

 

He grabbed his son’s arm. “Come on, son, let’s see what else needs to be done.”

 

Ron fell into step next to him as they trudged toward a copse of trees. “How will we break the wall?”

 

“We don’t, son. We take it apart. Only a Weasley can do that. The stones will only tolerate a Weasley.” Arthur paused. “You should do that. Then we use the stone to make the gate pillars.”

 

“That way, the strength of the stone flows into the gate.”

 

“So they have taught you something at school.”

 

Ron grinned. “I guess,” he said. “You should thank Hermione for my O.W.L.S., though.”

 

“I have.”

 

Both men chuckled, as they made their way up the incline. Arthur panting a little to keep up with his son and then he felt his foot slip on some loose gravel. He braced himself for a fall, when Ron grabbed his arm firmly, keeping him upright. Arthur nodded his thanks, noting that the strength in his son’s arms was now mirrored in his eyes.

 

Strength of stone. 

 

The stone would acknowledge the girl. “She’s not for taming, Ron.”

 

“I know that. You’ve never tamed Mum.”

 

“She’s mostly tamed me.” They chuckled together again. 

 

“A Weasley woman’s for gentling, Ron. We don’t want mild, meek creatures.”

 

“A woman that leaves scars, Dad?”

 

“Only if you rile her.”

 

“Seems like that’s most of the time.”

 

“Your mother, too,” Arthur laughed. “You missed seeing Fleur give your brother a going over the other night.”

 

“Bad?”

 

“The air was blue. I mean literally. I don’t know if it was Veela magic or just French magic. I’ve never seen Harry’s eyes so wide.”

 

“Canaries.”

 

“What?”

 

“Hermione sent magical canaries after me. Pecking.”

 

“No doubt, you deserved it.”

 

“I wish people would stop saying that.”

 

Arthur laughed heartily. Then he caught Ron’s eye.

 

“Is Harry serious about your sister?”

 

“I think so, Dad, but...”

 

“There’s something isn’t there?”

 

“He’s afraid of making her a target.”

 

“She already is.” 

 

“With the diary?”

 

Arthur shook his head, “I’ve had approaches.”

 

“Approaches?”

 

“Idiots with more money than magic, looking to arrange a marriage.”

 

“Weasley’s don’t do that!”

 

“That’s what I told them.” Arthur grabbed Ron’s shoulder. “But listen, if something happened to me, they’ll go to Bill and then to Charlie, down to you. You know my thoughts, Ron?”

 

“She marries who she wants, when she wants.”

 

“Good! I’ve spoken to your brother’s as well.”

 

“Even Percy?”

 

“Yes, even Percy.” Arthur felt a sharp pain in his heart. “Don’t expect him to do the right thing, Ron.”

 

“Don’t worry, Dad.”

 

They stopped at the ancient pump, and Ron rolled up his sleeves pumping away for a good five minutes before the ice cold water gushed forth, allowing Arthur to drink. Arthur took over from Ron, allowing him to quench his thirst.

 

They both sat on the ground looking back down the hill they had just climbed.

 

“Driveway’s doable,” Ron said.

 

“Easy,” Arthur replied. “Now let’s talk about plumbing.”

 

*

 

A part of her suspected, a part of her knew, a part of her almost jumped for joy when he asked her to go on a picnic, a part of her wanted to run away and hide. 

 

The part that loved him the most, said yes.

 

“Ron, I don’t think we should leave the property.”

 

“We’re not going to. This is all still part of the Burrow.”

 

They had been walking for a good half hour. Ron had led her up the hill behind the house and down through a small valley. Hermione had begun to worry when they crossed the small stream at the bottom.

 

“Your Dad owns all this land?”

 

“Nah. It’s all family land, in trust or something, we just live on it.”

 

“This much land’s worth a lot of money, Ron. Millions of pounds.”

 

“Not for sale, Luv. We’ve been here since before Hogwarts was even built.”

 

Their conversation had brought them out over the ridge. Down below them, Hermione could see a little cottage nestled amongst a copse of trees.

 

“See there,” Ron said. “That’s the Little Burrow. No one lives there now, but Mum and Dad did when they first got married. Mum says Bill was conceived there. Come on.”

 

He led her to the front door, which opened easily at his touch. Suddenly she felt herself being lifted off her feet. Ron had his arms around her, kissing her, as he carried her though the doorway.

 

“What do you think?” he said, releasing her.

 

The cottage was furnished much like the Burrow- proper, tatty and worn. The whole place was clean, there was something else, too; a faintest echo of the sense of wellbeing she only ever felt at the Burrow. 

 

“There are two bedrooms,” Ron said, “a study, the lounge and a kitchen.”

 

“Ron, it’s so clean, are you sure no one lives here?”

 

“Mum comes up here, ever so often, to strengthen the cleaning charms. With the wedding, some people will be staying here I expect.”

 

“Ron, it’s lovely.”

 

Ron beamed at her and squeezed her closer. “It’s easy to get to by car,” he said. “The muggle motor way comes off near our wall. Dad reckons it wouldn’t be difficult to make a driveway. We’d have to fix the plumbing up a bit. There’s only an old pump out back, but Dad says Ted Tonks would give us a good deal. Then I’d like to build some book cases along that wall, I can manage that myself. The kitchen could…”

 

“Ron, wait! Why are you telling me this?” Hermione’s heart was in her throat. She thought she knew, she hoped she knew, but she had to ask.

 

“I thought….I mean we could…” Ron shook his head, turning away from her. “I’ve stuffed it up again.”

 

“No, Ron, you haven’t, please just…just tell me.”

 

“Do you want to live here? This could be ours for a while, until we outgrow it. We could make it easy for your folks to get to.”

 

“Ron?”

 

Hermione held her breath as Ron dug into his jeans pocket, pulling out a small purple velvet box.

 

“’Mione, will you marry me?” he said holding out the box.

 

Gingerly, she opened the box to reveal a petite, sapphire stoned engagement ring, accompanied by a plain gold wedding band.

 

“Ron, they’re beautiful. Where did you get them from?”

 

“From a muggle store. You see, they have to be uncharmed and that’s the easiest way of making sure.” He was babbling, but she didn’t mind. “Do you like the stone? Angelina said it reminded her of my eyes.” Ron blushed. “That you would like that.”

 

“Angelina helped you?”

 

“Yeah, she was really helpful?”

 

“Ron, how did you afford these?”

 

“I had a little help.” 

 

“From the twins?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You asked the twins?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“God, how much interest are they charging? We’ll be in debt for the rest of our lives.” Hermione began pacing the small living room. “I’ll speak to my parents. We’ve got to pay them off quickly.”

 

“’Mione, calm down.”

 

“Yes?” She looked at him concerned. 

 

“They’re giving us the money.”

 

“What? Fred and George? Your brothers?

 

“They said… well, George said, actually: for you, anything. For Lavender, not a single knut.”

 

For once in her life, Hermione was speechless. A shy smile began to tug at her mouth as she took in the compliment.

 

“They said that?” she said, “The Twins said that about me?”

 

Ron walked up to Hermione and put his hands on her waist, looking down at her. “They did and you shouldn’t be too surprised, either. They think you deserve an Order of Merlin for putting up with me for so long.”

 

“Well, this is true,” said Hermione shyly. She paused for a moment taking in the ring, as the blue stone did remind her of Ron’s eyes.

 

“’Mione?”

 

“Yes, Ron?”

 

“I’m dying here.” There was a touch of exasperation in his voice, “Do I build bookcases or not?”

 

A part of her wanted to throw herself at him, to melt into his arms, to feel his body against hers. “When, Ron?” 

 

“Tomorrow morning. Bill’s party is in the evening and then there’s the wedding. Harry wants to leave the day after that. Fred says he knows someone who can do it on short notice, someone who’s discrete.”

 

“You want to keep this a secret?”

 

“It’s Bill’s big day and I don’t want to spoil it for him. I thought if we came back… I mean when we came back we could have a fancy ceremony. I want to do this quickly, for the protection. I need you to be protected.”

 

“What about our wedding night?”

 

“The protection doesn’t need that… I thought it could wait until…until we came back.”

 

“Do you want that?”

 

Ron squirmed uncomfortably. “That’s not a fair question.”

 

“I don’t want to wait either. I’ll marry you, Ronald, but you need to organise something. I’m not sleeping alone on my wedding night!” Hermione allowed Ron to draw her into his arms. “I’m not sleeping alone ever again.” 

 

*

 

“There’s a problem,” said Fred. “A rather big one.”

 

“I thought you said this guy could do it, Fred,” said Ron.

 

“He can,” replied Fred. “And he’ll bend the rules by doing it so quickly, but he won’t break the law.”

 

“What law?” said Hermione. “Ron and I are both of age.”

 

“Ah, yes my dear, but you’re a Muggleborn.”

 

“WHAT?” Hermione could almost feel Ron’s instant rage. “There’s no law against marrying a Muggleborn! There can’t be. I refuse to accept that!”

 

“Calm down, Ron,” said George. “There’s no law that says you can’t marry a Muggleborn.”

 

“But you just said…”

 

“I need to be twenty-one,” said Hermione quietly. “That’s the muggle age of consent.”

 

“That’s right,” said Fred. “Apparently a law was passed a few years ago to protect innocent, young Muggleborns like yourself from randy, young wizards like Ron. You can’t marry without your father’s express permission at the ceremony, not until you’re twenty one.”

 

“That’s ridiculous,” Ron protested. “Who came up with a stupid law like that?”

 

“Well you see, there’s the bitter irony, Ron,” said Fred. “It’s part of Dad’s Muggle Protection Act.”

 

Fin

 

***

 

Next Chapter: Chapter: 11 - Submission

 

Starring little Jimmy Knott

 

Author’s note:

1\. Inspired by all those fics that have Ron, Hermione or Harry & Ginny having nice little houses. (Cliché I know) 

 

2\. In some fics I’ve read Ted Tonks was a magical plumber, so I’m stealing that shamelessly.

 

3\. Sandy made a big contribution to this chapter as well, especially Hermione’s reaction to the twins.


	11. Submission

Midnight Confessions Chapter 11: Submission  
  
By alloy  
  
“And after you have given and received your rings, you will submit your wands.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You give and receive rings.”  
  
“After that?”  
  
“You will submit your wand to Ron, and he will submit his to you.”  
  
“Oh!”  
  
“It’s symbolic of course.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Some wizards refuse to submit their wands to their wives,” said the Marriage Officer. “Then I refuse to conduct the wedding.”  
  
“Do you know what it means to give a Wizard your wand Hermione?” Ron had asked. Then he returned her wand to her. “I’m not so sure I trust myself,” he had said.   
  
  
_It had all started when a first year, James Knott had asked her about wands. Out the corner of her eye, Hermione had seen Lavender begin to lead Ron determinedly out of the common room. Since his disastrous birthday, Ron had desperately been trying to avoid Lavender. Tonight it seems he had failed._ _  
  
  
_“Why don’t you ask Ron Weasley,” Hermione had said. “He’s had two wands, even used a broken one for a year.”_  
  
  
_The young Muggleborn’s face had lit up. “Really?”_  
  
  
_“Yes, look he’s over there, you should be able to catch him.”_  
  
  
_“Mr. Weasley, Sir?”_  
  
  
_Ron stopped dead and turned to look at the young first year rapidly approaching him. Lavender bequeathed the young boy a venomous look that would have done Draco Malfoy proud. It was totally ignored._  
  
  
_“I’m sorry to worry you, sir, but I’ve got an essay for detention on wands and Miss Granger says you’re an authority.”_  
  
  
_Ron shot a glance at Hermione, she couldn’t discern quite what it meant, but she felt certain it contained a measure of relief._  
  
  
_“Listen Shortie,” Ron said. “It’s Ron, just plain Ron, not Mr. Weasley or sir.” He paused. “You got detention?”_  
  
  
_“Professor Snape,” the younger boy said, “For asking too many questions.”_  
  
  
_“Ron!” Lavender’s voice sounded brittle. “Can’t this wait?”_  
  
  
_“Lavender, I’m a prefect, it’s my job to help him.”_  
  
  
_“What about us, Won-Won.”_  
  
  
_Hermione cringed inwardly at the endearment._  
  
  
_“Do you have to help him now?”_  
  
  
_“No good leaving it for the last moment.”_  
  
  
_Lavender glanced in Hermione’s direction. “That’s what she always says.”_  
  
  
_Ron shrugged. “Sometimes she’s right.” He turned to the young boy again. “It’s due tomorrow isn’t it?”_  
  
  
_James nodded._  
  
  
_“Yeah, Snape’s always a git about these things.”_  
  
  
_“Ron! I’m not waiting up for you to finish.”_  
  
  
_“Listen Lavender, it’s detention, for Snape. If the midget doesn’t hand in something halfway decent it’ll mean house points and probably another essay, most likely on Polyjuice potion.”_  
  
  
_Hermione hid her smile. James’ face had lit up at the prospect of learning a new potion. The boy was somewhat of an academic. Lavender too had noticed._  
  
  
_“Won-Won, I don’t think he needs your help.” Lavender suddenly spied something under the first year’s arm, quickly she snatched it up. “Look he’s even got a book on wands.”_  
  
  
_“It’s Miss Granger’s book actually.” He reached out to take it back from Lavender, who refused to relinquish it. “It’s Mr. Weasley’s personal experiences I’m interested in.”_  
  
  
_Hermione could have kissed the first year for his Gryffindor courage._  
  
  
_“RON!”_  
  
  
_“I’m sure we won’t be too long,” said Ron firmly pulling the book from Lavender’s hands._  
  
  
_Lavender had had enough, she cast a venomous glance across the common room toward Hermione and then at James, who blinked back at her with the innocence of youth. “I’m sorry, Miss Brown, I’ll try not to take up too much time.”_  
  
  
_“FINE!” Lavender turned on Ron. “If you’re staying up with him you can get your good night kiss from him as well!” Then she turned and stalked up the staircase to the girl’s dormitory._  
  
  
_To Hermione’s eyes Ron seemed somewhat relieved as he watched Lavender disappear. Then he turned and ruffled the first year’s neatly combed hair. “Relax, Shortie, you’re not my type.”_  
  
  
_Hermione smiled to herself. Ron was a surprisingly good prefect when it came to the younger children. Certainly he called them names like ‘Shortie’ or ‘midget,’ but unlike the prefects of Slytherin house or even Ravenclaw, he had no need to invoke fear. None of them were afraid of Ron and often approached him instead of her with their problems. A small part of Hermione, that wasn’t logical and proper, the part that entertained flights of fancy, like to think of Ron’s behavior as paternal._  
  
  
_Ron led James to a table and sat down. “Would Miss Granger care to join us?” he asked._  
  
  
_Hermione nodded and came to sit on the other side of the first year._  
  
  
_Ron carefully placed his wand on the table._  
  
  
_James followed suit and after a moment Hermione did as well._  
  
  
_Ron’s was certainly the longest. Made of willow, it spanned 14 inches. It was an extraordinary long wand and its appearance at the beginning of their third year, had sparked much speculation in the girls’ dormitory._  
  
  
_James’ wand spanned 12 inches, also long by most standards and was made of inflexible oak._  
  
  
_Hermione’s flexible vine wand was a mere 10 inches, but a respectable length for a witch._  
  
  
_“I thought my wand was long,” James exclaimed, “But yours is…”_  
  
  
_“Fourteen inches,” said Hermione. “I’ve only seen one bigger.”_  
  
  
_“Miss Granger said you broke your first one. Was it the same?”_  
  
  
_“No, that was an ash wand, much shorter, but then it was a ‘hand me down’ from my brother Charlie.”_  
  
  
_James frowned. “I thought the wand chose the wizard?” He glanced at Hermione. “Or witch. That’s what Mr. Ollivander said.”_  
  
  
_“That’s true,” Ron said, “but people who are closely related can normally use each other’s wands reasonably well.”_  
  
  
_“Why did Charlie change his wand then?” Hermione asked._  
  
  
_“Don’t know really,” Ron said. “One day he just owled his old wand home from Romania. Said he had made his own, that it was better for working with dragons.”_  
  
  
_“Shouldn’t you have got your own, though?” James asked._  
  
  
_“Neville Longbottom also used a second hand wand,” Hermione said quickly. “It was his father’s.”_  
  
  
_“So it’s not so unusual then?”_  
  
  
_“Not in wizarding families,” Ron said._  
  
  
_“Miss Granger said you used the broken wand for a year? Was that in two pieces or did you just use the largest piece.”_  
  
  
_“I spell-o-taped it together, some people have glued theirs.”_  
  
  
_“And it worked?”_  
  
  
_“Not very well. It’s very difficult to control a broken wand. It eventually blew up you know.”_  
  
  
_“Not while you were using it, Ron,” Hermione interjected._  
  
  
_“That’s right. Someone who didn’t know it was broken tried to use it and boom.”_  
  
  
_“Were they hurt,” asked James wide eyed._  
  
  
_“Still in St. Mungo’s. Ponsy pratt shouldn’t have taken my wand.”_  
  
  
_James looked at Hermione. “Gilderoy Lockhart tried to obliviate Ron with his own wand.”_  
  
  
_James swallowed, “So it’s not a good idea to use another wizard’s wand?”_  
  
  
_“Not unless it’s an emergency,” Ron said, “and even then, it should be a mate.”_  
  
  
_“Miss Granger. Your wand is very different from ours, is that because you’re…” as he had spoken he had reached for Hermione’s wand._  
  
  
_Ron’s large hand had grasped the smaller boy’s wrist. “You don’t just reach for a witch’s wand,” he said._  
  
  
_“I wasn’t going to use it.”_  
  
  
_Ron released him. “I know,” he said. “And Hermione probably won’t mind because she’s a Muggleborn like yourself, but if you did that to a pureblood witch you’d most likely find yourself hexed.”_  
  
  
_“Oh!”_  
  
  
_Hermione picked up her wand. “Neville used my wand in the Department of Mysteries,” she said. “He came and apologized afterwards.” Hermione twirled the wand in her hand and then lowered the handle into Ron’s open palm. “He asked that I not tell you, said you might be upset.”_  
  
  
_“Harry told me,” Ron said. “I wasn’t, I trust Neville.”_  
  
  
_“So Mr. Longbottom used your wand?”_  
  
  
_“James.” There was a slightly menacing edge to Ron’s voice as he held Hermione’s eye. “Go to bed. Show me the essay before you give it to Snape.”_  
  
  
_“Professor…” Hermione murmured_  
  
  
_“But I’m interested in Mr. Longbottom’s experiences using a witch’s wand.”_  
  
  
_“Then ask him. Tomorrow.”_  
  
  
_The first year finally caught the tone in Ron’s voice. He scooped up his own wand and Hermione’s book off the table and literally ran toward the boys’ dorm._  
  
  
_“Never hand your wand to a wizard, Hermione, not until you know what it means.”_  
  
  
_“Neville used my wand in an emergency.”_  
  
  
_“I know,” Ron said, “and I trust Neville, like I trust Harry or my brothers.”_  
  
  
_“What about you, Ron?”_  
  
  
_“Do you know what it means to give a wizard your wand, Hermione?”_  
  
  
_Hermione shook her head._  
  
  
_Ron reversed her wand and handed it back to her. “Don’t. I’m not so sure I trust myself.” Then Ron stood and walked stiffly up the stairs to the boys’ dorm._  
  
  
_“It’s an offer of marriage, Hermione,” said Ginny as she appeared out of the shadows near the fireplace. “Or…” the youngest Weasley had blushed, “at very least, an invitation to love making.”__  
  
“Miss Granger, are you alright?” There was obvious concern in the Marriage Officer’s voice. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”  
  
“Yes,” replied Hermione. “Positive.”  
  
“Who gives this witch?”   
  
“I do.”   
  
Hermione caught the intonation in her father’s voice.  
  
“You are a Muggle, sir? A non-magic person?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Do you give express permission that your daughter, Hermione Jane Granger, an adult witch, still yet a juvenile in Muggle terms, to be married to Ronald Billius Weasley, an adult wizard?”  
  
“I… I do.”  
  
Dennis Granger took Hermione’s hand and placed it in Ron’s.  
  
“Thank you, sir. If there be any other persons present who know of any lawful impediment to the union in marriage of these two people, you may speak now or forever hold your peace.”  
  
“Well…” George cleared his throat. “He is a prat.” Ron groaned inwardly and shot a death glare at his brother.  
  
“I know he’s a prat,” Hermione said. “That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t marry him.” Then she squeezed his hand, and Ron realized that she was shaking as much as he was.  
  
“If there are no legitimate reasons?”  
  
“Very well, then.”  
  
“Do you Ronald Weasley….”   
  
The rest was a blur, Harry had to prompt Ron twice, but Hermione only smiled and then she stumbled her words as well when her turn came.  
  
“The ring, please.”   
  
As Harry scrabbled in his pocket, Hermione spoke, “I have a ring for Ron.” She gestured to her mother who dipped into her handbag and extracted a small velvet bag; from it she produced a ring and placed it along side the wedding band Harry had put in the palm of the Marriage Officer’s hand.  
  
He looked at the rings and waved his wand over them. A frown creased his forehead. “These rings have been charmed. It is illegal to present rings charmed with any sort of binding magic at a wedding.”  
  
George stepped forward. “It is a Weasley custom for a senior family member to perform a blessing over the rings. I performed that blessing on Hermione’s ring. There is no binding magic, I assure you.”  
  
The marriage officer nodded. “I expected that.” He turned to Dennis Granger. “It’s perfectly acceptable,” he said.  
  
“It’s been explained to me.”  
  
“Good. Now Ronald, Hermione, if you would like to exchange rings.”  
  
Ron took the ring that his brother’s had bought him and took Hermione’s hand, both of them were still trembling.  
  
“Hermione,” he said. “With this ring, I thee wed.”   
  
Ron watched as Hermione took the ring she had brought and placed it over his finger. “Take this ring, Ronald, as a symbol of my love and fidelity.”  
  
Ron realized that he was crying. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That it’s like this.”  
  
Hermione wiped away a tear with her thumb, “Don’t be.” Then she took her wand and offered it to him. “I submit my wand to you.” Then silently she mouthed. “I know what it means.”  
  
Ron took and held out his. “And I, mine to you.”  
  
“I pronounce you Man and Wife, Wizard and Witch. You may kiss.”  
  
It was a brief kiss, before Harry hugged them both, not saying anything.  
  
Dennis Granger grasped Ron’s hand, the request to look after his only daughter unspoken in his eyes and then the twins descended and Ron braced himself.   
  
Fred took Ron’s hand and shook it firmly. “Welcome to the club little brother,” was all he said before Angelina muscled him out of the way to hug and kiss Ron.   
  
George’s words were just as sober. “We don’t tell you enough because….well because, we’re proud of you, Ron, and we love you and if you repeat that to anyone we’ll have to kill you.” Then George hugged Ron hard. “You know Mum’s going to kill you anyway.”  
  
“I’ll just send her after Fred.”  
  
“That’s my boy.”  
  
“Mister and Missus Weasley?”  
  
“I’m afraid I have another wedding to conduct, but I do wish you the best of luck.”  
  
“I’m sorry, but your fee?” Hermione asked.  
  
“It’s been taken care of. Your Brothers-In-Law were more than generous.”  
  
It was really very anti-climatic; George escorted the Grangers home while Fred and Angelina took them back to the flat. “We’ll be at the Burrow if you need anything.”  
  
Ron nodded and turned back to Hermione. Taking a deep breath he picked her up as gently as he could and carried her through the wards of the flat.   
  
Carried her toward their new life together.  
  
To be continued….


	12. Oh Happy Day

“Hey Fred,” said Bill. “Where’s Ron? I want all my brothers here for my Bulls party.”   
  
It was his father’s face that caused Bill to regret his words. He knew Ron was around somewhere, but Percy had ignored both his invitation to be a groomsmen and Charlie’s invitation to this party. Bill’s words had served to reinforce the twins and Ron’s attitude that Percy was no longer a member of the family.  
  
Fred leant forward and whispered in his ear. “I’m afraid Ickle Ronnikins will be missing in action tonight, Bill. He sends his regards, but he had more important things to do.”  
  
Bill’s chuckle was short lived. He pulled Fred closer. “He’s not doing something stupid is he? He really loves that girl; I don’t want to see him mess it up.”  
  
“If he made a mistake, Bill, it was this morning and I don’t think it was a mistake.”   
  
Bill sat stunned for a moment. “I knew he was thinking of asking her, but I never thought this quickly. How can he keep this a secret? Mum will kill him.”  
  
“Keep it quiet, will you! Tomorrow’s your big day. Ron knows that. He just wanted to make sure Hermione had every protection he could give her before they left with Harry. He figured they could have a fancy ceremony when they come back.”   
  
“Where are they?”  
  
“They apparated back to the flat earlier. The wards are up and Hermione can definitely get through them.”  
  
“Mum’s still gonna kill him.”   
  
“Well that’s just a risk some of us have to take.”  
  
Their conversation was interrupted but the appearance of the ladies. In the interests of safety the Bulls party had been relegated to drinks in the Burrow garden, while the girls had Fleur’s Hens party inside and now the ladies were coming to join the men. George and a number of Weasley cousins looked delighted at the prospect of entertaining the mostly part Veela girls. Fred less so, until he spotted Angelina.  
  
Bill noted the way Fred’s face lit up as Angelina sat on his lap.   
  
“Hello, Angel.”   
  
“Did my Freddy miss me?”  
  
Bill looked away searching for Fleur, but he couldn’t help listening.  
  
“Wonder how they’re getting on.”  
  
“Probably fighting over what side of the bed to sleep on.”  
  
“Don’t be nasty, Freddy,” Angelina sighed. “I hope it’s special for her.”   
  
“He was willing to wait, Angel. It was her choice.”  
  
“Hah!” snorted Angelina. “Bloody noble Weasleys, you know we can’t keep our hands off you.”  
  
“I count on it, Angel of mine, I count on it.”  
  
Then Bill’s concentration lapsed as Fleur’s lips began to occupy the bulk of his attention. It was true after all. Women couldn’t keep their hands off them.   
  
*   
  
There was life in the old dog yet.   
  
Molly Weasley looked down at her sleeping husband and gently toyed with his thinning graying hair. A combination of the drinks and the Veela magic had given Arthur vigour last night and Mollywobbles would be the last to complain.   
  
She remembered the first time she had come to the Burrow, it had been smaller then, his parent’s house and he had invited her to his brother’s wedding. With the house full, he had led her up into the tree house and Molly had wobbled there for the first time. Molly blushed; wouldn’t William be mortified to learn why his mother always checked the tree house first?   
  
Still today was the day her little Billy was getting married and while she had had her reservations about his bride to be, they had been banished on that horrible night in Hogwarts Castle.   
  
His brothers would stand with him today; Charles, the Twins, even Ronald, her youngest boy, now a man, all except Percy. There was an ache in her heart for every rejection Percy had given the family.  
  
She shook her husband. “Wakey! Wakey! King Arthur your young knight is getting married today.”   
  
Arthur opened his eyes, suddenly he reached out and wrestled her back onto the pillows. “You called me Lancelot last night, Mollywobbles,” he growled. Molly giggled and swatted him gently. “Now Arthur, we don’t have time for that, you’ve got to get dressed and down to the Little Burrow to make sure that Bill and Charlie get here on time.”  
  
“Yes dear,” replied her husband before he squinted at cupboard. “Molly, why are there two sets of robes hanging there.”   
  
“Oh dear,” she replied. “Those are Ron’s, he must have forgotten to take them after the party last night.” She frowned. “Come to think of it, I don’t remember seeing him at all last night.”   
  
“Well now, dear, he probably found a nice dark corner with Hermione. You know how they are right now.”   
  
  
“I suppose,” she said. “I don’t remember seeing much of her either.”  
  
“Probably in the broom shed. I understand it’s sporting a rather comfortable couch at the moment.”   
  
Molly chuckled. “I’ll take those over to the twin’s flat just now. Probably have to wake them all up.”  
  
“Nice of them to volunteer the house to the youngsters. Ginny was rather put out at not joining their slumber party, but as a bridesmaid she had to be here.”   
  
“I doubt there were any hi-jinks,” said Molly. “Everyone was pretty exhausted when they left.”  
  
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Really, Mollywobbles? Exhausted you say? I’m rested now.”  
  
*  
  
An hour and a half later, a grinning Molly Weasley apperated into her sons flat. As she suspected it was still in darkness and she nodded approvingly at the amber glow which indicated that her sons had raised the wards after returning home.  
  
Harry Potter lay on the couch asleep and she smiled that George had allowed a guest that privilege. Hermione and Angelina would no doubt be enjoying the privacy of one of the bedrooms, while the twins had shared all their lives.  
  
Molly’s thoughts came to a grinding halt. GEORGE! Why was George on the living room floor? Where was Ronald?  
  
Molly Weasley marched determinedly into George’s bedroom.   
  
Slamming open the door she discovered Fred and Angelina very cozily cuddled up in the single bed.  
  
“FREDERICK WEASLEY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN BED WITH THAT GIRL?”  
  
Fred and Angelina jolted awake and Fred observed his mother with bleary eyes.   
  
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Molly repeated.  
  
“Sleeping, Mum.”  
  
Molly stood aghast at her son’s cheek, speechless she allowed her gaze to fall on Angelina. The young woman had pulled the sheets well over herself and it was clear to Molly that underneath them she was naked.   
  
A part of Molly wanted to shout and scream and harangue this young woman for corrupting her son. The part of Molly that remembered being seduced by the boy’s father in the tree house took a hold of that part and flung it out of her mind like a garden gnome. Clearly Fred was to blame.  
  
The boy was just sitting there, cocksure, as if he were waiting for something, waiting for a penny to drop.   


Ronald! “Where’s your brother?”   
  
“In the living room.” The twins had always delighted in exasperating her.   
  
“Not George! RONALD!”  
  
“Ah! Ickle Ronniekins would be in the master bedroom.” Fred pointed past his mother to the door emblazoned with a stylish ‘F’; on the knob hung a very familiar Gryffindor school tie.   
  
Molly Weasley let out a very unladylike word and opened the door. What she saw within gave her pause.  
  
Her youngest son lay bare chested on his back snoring. Cradled snugly in his arm, wearing what Molly judged to be Ron’s pajama jacket, was the chestnut haired witch which she had long come to regard as her second daughter. The bed was new, queen sized, almost shimmering in red and gold. They both looked so comfortable and peaceful that Molly was almost derailed of her purpose. Almost!  
  
“RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY, YOU WAKE UP THIS INSTANT!”   
  
Both young people jerked awake, still entangled with one another they found their wands and had them to bear before Molly could react. Ron blinked the sleep from his eyes. “Bloody hell, Mum! We nearly hexed you!”   
  
“Ronald!” Hermione hissed. “Language.”  
  
Behind her Molly heard a chuckle from Fred. “That’s our girl.”   
  
“Ronald, would you care to explain yourself?”   
  
“No Mum, I wouldn’t!”   
  
There was a defiance in her son’s eyes that she had seen all too often in the twins, but rarely in him. Ronald was like his father. When you saw his defiance it meant something.  
  
“You come bashing into our bedroom like a rampaging hippogriff. Maybe you should explain yourself!” Molly was shocked at he son’s anger. “WELL MUM?”   
  
“Ron,” Hermione voice was soft. “Luv.” Her hand looked so small against his chest.   
  
Molly suddenly found herself fighting back tears. “She sees it, too,” she thought. “She knows when to shout and harass and berate him, she knows when to scold him and she knows it won’t do any good now. She knows him as well as I do, probably better.”   
  
“Mrs. Weasley, I think it would be better if you waited outside while we got dressed.” The rest was unspoken. “While I try to calm him down.”  
  
  
Molly felt a gentle hand on her shoulder as Fred steered her out of the room and closed the door behind them.   
  
“Angel love, could you make Mum some tea.”  
  
Fred turned to Harry and George who were now awake. It was George who spoke however. “I’ll just show Harry those new products then. Grab your clothes, Harry, we’ll change downstairs.”   
  
Molly allowed herself to be seated on the couch; she finally allowed the tears to flow.   
  
“Come on, Mum,” said Fred, rubbing his mother’s back. “They love each other.”  
  
“I know, Fred, it’s just… he’s my baby and he’s had to grow up so quickly, and that girl’s grown up with him and now it feels like she’s stolen him.”   
  
“Mum, she’s good for him.”   
  
“I know, Fred.” Molly took a deep breath. “I want to be angry at her and at Fleur and at Angelina, but I can’t. You’ve all got something of your father in you and I fell in love with your father. How can I blame any of them for falling in love with you?”  
  
“Mrs. Weasley?” Angelina held the mug of tea for Molly to grasp the handle. Molly stared at the girl’s strong fingers for a moment.  
  
“When did you get the ring, dear?”  
  
“A few weeks ago, Mrs. Weasley. With the headmaster gone…Fred didn’t want to wait.”   
  
Wiping away the tears, Molly patted the couch next her. “Call me,’Mum.’” She turned and cupped Fred’s cheek in her palm. “It’s far too late to say you’re a naughty boy, Fred.”  
  
“Mum?” Molly jerk around at the sound of her youngest son’s voice.  
  
“Have you calmed down, Ronald?”  
  
“Yeah, I reckon a bit.”   
  
“Good. Now Hermione can come and show me her ring.”   
  
“Mum? How do you know?”  
  
“Frederick wouldn’t give up his new marital bed unless it was important. Would you, Fred?”   
  
“No Mum.”  
  
As Hermione lifted her slender hand for Molly see, the tears began to flow. “Your old Mum’s not that daft, you know?”   
  
“Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione had found a handkerchief around her person.  
  
“It’s ‘Mum’ dear, and you come sit next to me. MOVE FRED!”   
  
Both Ron and Fred chuckled as the older brother found himself unceremoniously dumped on the floor.   
  
“Was your father there, dear? He had to be you know to make it legal?”  
  
Hermione nodded. “He was Mrs… Mum.”  
  
“A law won’t matter to the family of course, just the ring. But your father-in-law did draft the law, so we should make a point of obeying it.”   
  
“It was a bloody pain in the bum, Mum.”   
  
“Ronald!” Both Molly and Angelina chuckled at Hermione’s quick response.   
  
“Tell me, Ron,” said Fred suddenly a naughty twinkle in his eye. “How did you decide what side of the bed to sleep on?”   
  
“Well… er.” Ron glanced at Hermione. “We had a bit of a fight about that.”  
  
Fred grinned and Angelina burst out laughing. Molly took in the look on Ron’s face before she joined her.   
  
It was going to be a wonderful day.   
  
Fin  
  
  
***  
  
  
Next Chapter Blurp:  
  
  
  
Bill and Fleur’s Wedding Day, what could be happier than that?  
  
  
  
“Darkness Rising.”  
  
  
  
Author’s Notes:  
  
1\. Sandy was embarrassed by Molly wobbling though. I love making Sandy blush.   
  
  
  
Beta’s Notes:  
  
  
  
Thanks alloy. (blushing) Please enjoy and review. Thank you. :]


	13. Darkness Rising

“Then why are you snogging Lavender Brown?” Came an unexpected reply.  
  
In the infirmary Ron & Hermione come to an understanding, but not before they make their 'Midnight Confessions' and in that brief period before Bill's wedding Ron takes charge of his life planning a future with the woman he loves.  
   
Midnight Confessions Chapter thirteen: Darkness Rising  
  
By alloy  
  
(Title taken from a chapter of Paul Levitz & Keith Giffen’s ‘Great Darkness Saga’ in DC Comics Legion Of Super-heroes (early 80s))  
  
*  
  
Lavender Brown was a liar.  
  
In her heart of hearts, Hermione had known that. She knew it the horrible winter’s day when Lavender had pranced into the girls’ dormitory telling all and sundry that Ron Weasley was a hard, rough lover. Just the way, Lavender claimed, she liked it. Hermione had cried herself to sleep that night.  
  
Ron Weasley, her Ron, her husband was no such thing. Bravado and innuendo had stopped when they had found themselves alone in the twins flat. They had talked, like the night in the infirmary, openly voicing hopes, fears and desires. Gentle touches had turned into caresses, until finally they had joined. A union, man and wife, it had been magical, it had been gentle.  
  
Lavender Brown was a liar.  
  
“Hermione? Are you ready?”  
  
“Almost, Ron, I just need someone to do me up.”  
  
“I’ll ask Angelina.”  
  
“Ron wait!”  
  
“Yes, Luv?”  
  
“You can do it.”  
  
Hermione watched in the mirror as he entered the room, the grin on his face sending a warm shiver down her bare back.  
  
“I can, can’t I?” he said.  
  
She felt his fingers on her, gently tracing her bra strap before he began buttoning up her dress.  
  
“Are you alright?” he asked. “I mean, last night, I wasn’t too rough, was I?”  
  
Hermione turned and raised her arm to tug Ron’s hair, drawing him down to her.  
  
“Lavender is a liar!” she said as their lips met.  
  
*  
  
There was a hand on the small of her back, a strong hand that held her firmly, occasionally it would drift downward to stroke or squeeze her buttocks. There was still a hint of the naughty, the forbidden in his actions.  
  
“Mum’s watching,” he said as he gripped her cheek tightly and spun her around. She caught a glimpse of Molly Weasley, the raised eyebrow betrayed by a grin, then Arthur spun her around and Hermione saw the reason for it.  
  
‘Like father, like son.’  
  
A few moments later, a voice interrupted them. “May I steal her for a dance, Ron?”  
  
“Sure Dad.”  
  
The hand returned in an eerie sort of way. Hermione had found it hard to believe that Ron could dance at all, let alone well and now she was dancing with his father. Their style, their posture, very much the same if it weren’t for the rather startling fact that Arthur Weasley was now shorter than his youngest son. Hermione would have sworn that she was dancing with the same man.  
  
“Did you teach Ron to dance?”  
  
Arthur shook his head. “No,” he said, “Molly taught me and the children. She said I’d need it when all my sons got married.” Arthur leant in closer to whisper in her ear, “Welcome by the way.”  
  
She nodded and they continued dancing for a moment.  
  
“Hermione, I tried to contact your parents this morning, I couldn’t find them. Are they abroad?”  
  
Hermione shook her head.  
  
“Can you tell me how to contact them?”  
  
Hermione reached into a hidden pocket and handed a small piece of paper to Arthur; he unfolded it and took in its contents. “Fidelius Charm?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“That’s Ron’s handwriting.”  
  
“It was his idea.”  
  
“Were the Dursley’s his idea, too?”  
  
Hermione looked up at him in surprise. “How do you know about that?”  
  
“Tonks was assigned to investigate the use of the Obliviate charm on Privet Drive. There’s pressure on the Aurors to dig up some dirt on Harry, make him see things from the Minister’s point of view.”  
  
“What did she find?”  
  
“Fortunately, Arabella Figgs’ statement that she saw six cloaked men exiting the house, ties in nicely with my statement that Harry came directly from school to the Burrow.”  
  
“Ron wanted to tie up loose ends.”  
  
“Hmm, your parents, the Dursley’s, should Molly and I be worried?”  
  
Hermione stifled a giggle.  
  
“Well?”  
  
“Don’t worry, Mr. Weasley, you won’t remember a thing.”  
  
Arthur laughed and squeezed Hermione into a hug. With her ear against his chest she could feel the merriment barreling out from inside him.  
  
And then Ron wanted her back.  
  
He took her by the hand and led her away from dancing, pausing ever so often to kiss and then Hermione found her self in the pantry.  
  
“You want to snog in your mother’s pantry?”  
  
“Nah, I wanted to show you something.” He winked at her. “Then we’ll snog.”  
  
Ron sat down on his haunches and beckoned her to join him.  
  
“There! Do you see?” he said as he began to trace a grooved cut into the stone floor. “These are the wards of the Burrow.”  
  
“They’re not glowing like the ones in the flat.”  
  
“Well they’re down now; we don’t want to splinch half the guests.”  
  
“It seems a lot more complicated than the twins’.”  
  
“Well, there are basically three sets of wards here. There’s the Burrow,” said Ron pointing. “This house and the garden, there’s the Little Burrow and then there’s the whole property.” Ron shook his head. “The whole family has to raise those; they’re just too much effort.”  
  
Ron had just sat back on his haunches when the first shouts were heard. They rushed to the small circular window.  
  
Death Eaters were attacking the wedding.  
  
Hermione took a step back and found herself blinded.  
  
The grooved cuts in the floor had become torrents of magic and she had been standing right in the middle of them as it happened. Hermione found it difficult to move, like trying to run in knee high water. In desperation, she turned to Ron.  
  
Ron was on fire! No! Not on fire, Ron was fire! The burning copper brightness she could see was Ron; his magic, powering the wards. Hermione stopped fighting it, she allowed Ron’s magic to flow through her, laughing as she spun on her feet, intoxicated. This magic wouldn’t hurt her, the feeling of safety she always experienced at the burrow had escalated, Hermione felt invulnerable!  
  
Then the wards flickered.  
  
Ron was getting sick on the floor.  
  
“Ron, what’s wrong?” Hermione asked, ignoring the smell of vomit. Her feeling of security had shattered and the light from the wards began to resemble that of a faulty neon tube.  
  
“’Mione, I…I think I killed someone, when I raised the wards, someone was trapped, I felt…I felt them die. I’m a murderer!”  
  
“No Ron, It was a Death Eater! It was self-defense! He was coming to kill your family.” In the back of her mind Hermione prayed that it was true, that it wasn’t some unsuspecting guest fleeing the fight. “You’ve got to keep the wards up. Do you hear me, Ronald, keep the wards up!”  
  
The wards became almost solid again as Ron straightened up, wiping his mouth on his dress robes. Outside they could hear the sounds of chaos from the wedding guests; Weasley’s defending themselves, tackling the Death Eaters trapped inside the wards.  
  
“We’ve got to help!” Ron moved toward the door and Hermione followed him as they exited the pantry and then the house.  
  
“Ron wait, you’re holding up the wards, you can’t afford to put yourself in danger.”  
  
“I won’t let…argh!” Ron fell to his knees.  
  
Hermione felt helpless, with her new sight, the sight Ron had unlocked, she could see he wasn’t being attacked, it was the opposite, Ron was being smothered!  
  
All the Weasleys present had begun adding their power to the wards, but since Ron had raised them first, the magic was being channeled through him. As each Weasley added his will to the wards, the burden on Ron grew! He was being smothered in love!  
  
Hermione was about to scream, to shout, to tell them to let Ron alone, when the unthinkable happened.  
  
A Death Eater apparated through the wards!  
  
Hermione tightened her grip on her wand and hiked her dress up. He was coming for Ron!  
  
A killing curse, a green bolt of energy aimed at Ron’s heart. Hermione waved her wand and the spell hit the levitated garden chair, shattering it into nothingness.  
  
The Death Eater disapparated away. Hermione tracked his path through the ether, when he reappeared, his second curse caused a strip of turf she had placed in its path to wither and die.  
  
“OBLIVIATE!”  
  
Hermione took a minute’s worth of memory, just a minute, enough to disorientate, enough to stun and bind. She turned back to her struggling husband.  
  
 _“Let the boy stand alone!”_  
  
  
The voice had run in her head but not her ears. For the briefest moment she thought it was Dumbledore, but Dumbledore was dead; Dumbledore wasn’t a Weasley.  
  
 _“Take the battle outside the wards.”_  
  
Hermione felt the Weasleys unwrap themselves from Ron. As each one withdrew, the pressure lessened. Hermione used her dress to wipe the sweat from his brow; she had been startled to realize that she had recognised the Weasleys most reluctant to leave Ron; the ones that loved him the most; the twins, Ginny, his father.  
  
“Should we hit and run, Donavan?”  
  
Arthur Weasley was standing above her and Ron, alongside him stood a large bear of a man. Hermione didn’t need her second sight to tell her that he was a Weasley; his rich bushy beard spoke volumes.  
  
“Aye,” he said, even as his piercing gaze seemed to look through her. Then his mouth, though framed with hair, formed a familiar grin. “Mrs. Weasley,” he said nodding in acknowledgement and then both he and Arthur were gone.  
  
“Ron?” Somehow Harry had found them in the melee.  
  
“He’s alright, he’s holding the wards.”  
  
Harry nodded toward the Death Eater Hermione had felled. “I don’t know where he came from. I thought we had them all.”  
  
“He came through the wards.”  
  
“That’s not possible!”  
  
“It is for one person…”  
  
“AARGH!” A sound of effort and pain escaped Ron’s lips. Even as it did so, Harry cried out and put his hand to his scar.  
  
“It’s Voldemort!” he whispered. “He’s attacking the wards. He’s going to break Ron and then kill us all!” Harry gripped his wand resolutely. “He’s trying to scare me.”  
  
“No! Bastard killed my uncles, killed your parents.” Ron swallowed. “I won’t let him!”  
  
Ron’s words were fighting, but Hermione could see his magic waning. Deep in the back of her mind, Hermione could hear, no rather sense something; something distant, an echo, something that frightened her.  
  
In near desperation, she wrapped her arms around Ron’s shoulders. “Hold him, Ron, hold him! Give the other’s time to counter attack.”  
  
Arthur Weasley reappeared suddenly, a nasty gash above his brow; he was supporting Donavan whose left trouser leg was soaked in blood.  
  
All around her, Weasleys and their wives were disapparating out of the wards and apparating back, more often than not with injuries. Non-Weasleys, despite being frustrated at being trapped within the wards, were setting up a makeshift medical station and rounding up the Death Eaters that had made it inside.  
  
Hermione looked up to catch Harry’s frustrated eyes. “They need some place safe to come back to.”  
  
Despite her words, Hermione wondered how much longer they would be safe. Ron was struggling and Hermione could see the copper flame within him dimming as he drew on his deepest reserves of magic. The echo she had sensed earlier was louder, as if they were approaching a waterfall, a precipice that would send them tumbling to their dooms.  
  
“It’s too much,” Ron muttered and Hermione began to shout at him, practically screaming to hear herself over the roar that was filling her mind. “I’m not strong enough,” panted Ron.  
  
Hermione let her own anger well up then. Not at the thought that he might fail, but at the idea that he might give up. “You will not give up, Ronald Weasley! You will not give up, because I’m telling you so! You will not give up because we haven’t kissed enough; we haven’t made love enough, because I haven’t had the chance to have your babies! Because I love you!”  
  
Hermione was screaming herself hoarse, she could feel the wards beginning to tumble and she was vaguely aware of Harry falling to the ground and white noise filled her world.  
  
 _“Oh! Well done boy,”_ came the voice she had heard earlier and the silence was deafening.  
  
The wards were up. Hermione could sense them despite the fact that her eyes were closed. The wards were standing firm and strong and the fire in Ron shone brightly.  
  
“You hurt him,” came Harry’s voice. “You’ve hurt Voldemort badly.”  
  
“They’re withdrawing.” The voice was Bill’s, and Hermione opened her eyes as he hauled both her and Ron to their feet. “Well done, Ron!”  
  
Ron pulled Hermione toward himself. “A bit more snogging,” he whispered. “A bit more shagging,” he squeezed tightly, resting heavily on her.  
  
“What did he do?” asked Harry.  
  
“He created a second set of wards,” said Bill, “Inside the old set and pushed them together. It’s been done before, normally by a whole family. The feedback is normally enough to hurt the attackers quite badly.” Bill placed his hand on Ron’s shoulder again. “No one has ever done it by themselves before.”  
  
 _“Bring the boy to me.”_  
  
  
She had heard the voice this time, properly with her ears, no longer just in her mind. With her ears it sounded old and tired.  
  
 _“Bring his wife.”_  
  
Hermione felt her and Ron being steered toward the Burrow living room.  
  
The wizard was old, perhaps older than Dumbledore had been; his form shrunken, his legs useless beneath a blanket in his wheelchair. Hermione identified him as a Weasley, only because of her new second sight which revealed his burning copper magic.  
  
“Great Uncle…” Bill started.  
  
“Just ‘Uncle’ boy, just ‘Uncle,’ I’m not a ruddy Womble.”  
  
Hermione giggled despite herself.  
  
“Forgotten your manner’s, Ronald? Introduce your wife.”  
  
Ron blushed. “Uncle Hugh, this is Hermione.”  
  
“Your magic’s bright enough child,” said the old patriarch. “Come, let me see your face.” Ron nudged her forward and Hermione realised that the frail old man was blind, that he had been using his second sight to sense them.  
  
She closed her eyes as he lightly ran his fingers over her face.  
  
“What family are you from child?” The old wizard’s fingers were examining the texture of her hair.  
  
“Hermione’s a Muggleborn, sir.” There was just a hint of pride in Ron’s voice.  
  
“You defended your husband. Donavan said you defeated the blood traitor.”  
  
“I felt him come through the wards; I knew he was going to attack Ron.”  
  
“Such sensitivity, unusual for a wife so new.”  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“Yes child?”  
  
“You can see the magic in people?”  
  
“Have you discovered this talent in yourself child?”  
  
“Yes, today. I…I thought Ron was on fire, then I saw the fire in the wards and I realized it was his magic.”  
  
“It’s always been there child, only you’ve never realized. Some part of you has always seen Ronald like that.”  
  
“His magic’s so bright.”  
  
“Haven’t you always seen more in him than other people?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“His brightness attracts you, like a moth to a flame.”  
  
The moment was broken by a snigger from Ron and Hermione elbowed him in the ribs.  
  
Hugh shifted in the wheelchair. “It’s a useful talent you’ll find, a rare one,” he paused. “Regrettably, not something we can discuss now.”  
  
“Ronald, you’ve chosen well and you’ve served the family today, both of you.” The old man sighed, “Unlike the one we must deal with now. Bring in the blood traitor.”  
  
To be continued.  
  
***  
  
Next Chapter Blurp: Weasley No more!  
  
No prizes for guessing who the blood traitor is.  
  
Author’s Note:  
  
1\. Wombles are the creation of English author Elisabeth Beresford and their leader is an aged creature called ‘Great Uncle Bulgaria’. It was also made into a TV series. Look here for more information: http://www.wombles.easyweb-solutions.co.uk/  
  
2\. BIG THANKYOU’s to Sandy for her help on this chapter, making it readable.  
  
Beta’s Notes:  
  
Great fun as always. Hope you enjoy!


	14. Weasley No More

Midnight Confessions Chapter 14: Weasley No More.

By alloy

“Ronald, you’ve chosen well,” the old Wizard’s words sang in his ears, “Your wife.”

Ron gripped Hermione’s hand tightly.

“My Sister-In-Law,” he heard one the twins say. “Hermione. She’s brilliant!” Ron grinned broadly.

“Muggleborn,” said a cousin. “Defended him like a lioness.”

“Well she’s got the mane for it.”

“Lioness, you idiot!”

“Gryffindor?”

“Of course!”

“Yesterday.”

“Secretly married.”

“I thought she was Harry Potter’s girlfriend?”

“Viktor Krum’s.”

“Never Viktor or Harry,” she whispered in his ear.

“Weasley now!”

“One of us!”

“I knew all along,” he heard his mother’s voice. “From the day he wrote home about her; first Year at Hogwarts.”

“Parents are dentists.”

“…To do with teeth…”

“Her teeth are fine.”

“No stupid! It’s what they do!”

There were almost a hundred and fifty Weasleys crowded into the Burrow living room now. Someone had magically expanded it to accommodate the clan that was gathering with the old Wizard, Hugh Weasley, at the center. Weasleys, it would appear, couldn’t congregate without bickering, gossiping, pushing and shoving.

At the center of the melee, Hermione whispered in Ron’s ear, “You Weasleys are all the same.”

“Us Weasleys you mean?” Ron whispered and he was rewarded with the smile that had won his heart. He pulled her close to him as a tense silence descended upon the room.

Arthur and Charlie Weasley dragged the struggling Death Eater toward Hugh.

“I know who it is, Ron,” Hermione whispered.

“We all do,” Ron replied.

“Weasleys don’t wear masks.” It was Donavan Weasley who had spoken. The bear-like man was favoring his right leg, a clean white bandage on his left.

“Take the mask off,” Hugh said.

Charlie yanked back the Death Eater’s hood and pulled off the mask.

“Hello Percy,” said Hugh evenly. “There was no need to gatecrash the party. I’m certain you were invited.”

The spittle fell well short of Hugh’s wheelchair.

Arthur cuffed the back of Percy’s head. “You’re embarrassing your Mother.”

Ron shivered; he had never heard his father’s voice like that. He had never seen his father raise his hand to any of them, either. Next to him Ginny shivered too and Ron reached out and drew her closer.

“Why has your hand turned against your brother, Percy?” Hugh said.

“Blood traitor! He associates with Mudbloods and Halfbloods!” Percy turned toward Ron and spat again. “See! The slut’s with him now!”

Ron surged forward, but many hands held him and he struggled until Hermione’s voiced soothed him.

“She calms him like a puppy dog.”

The hands couldn’t hold him again and Ron dragged Ginny and Hermione with him in his burning anger.

“Hold,” Hugh’s voice rang strong and true in his head. “Your anger is righteous, Ronald, but it does not serve us now.” Ron allowed himself to be pulled back. He felt the hands of his cousins and uncles resting on him ready to restrain him. Not to save Percy, but to save him from himself. He looked up to notice the twins each being held similarly.

Arthur spoke his voice cold. “You have insulted your sister-in-law, Percy. Apologize.”

“She’s no relation of mine.”

“She is beautiful, this Muggleborn your brother has chosen,” the old man’s voice was melancholy. “Her hair is wonderfully wild, her face is fair, her voice gentle to my ears. Her wit is respected; her magic…her magic is unique.” Hugh’s voice grew cold. “Take care boy; deny not your family thrice!”

“What’s it to you old man?”

There was a hiss from the collected gathering and Ron could see a few heads shaking. “What happened to the little boy who sat on my knee, the one that asked me about our family, the one who sat enthralled for hours?”

“I thought you had power, I thought we had power! Instead we dilute our blood and serve the muggles and we stay poor while everyone grows rich serving the Dark Lord.”

“You have betrayed your family for gold.”

“For power you old fraud! For something you and that dead fool, Dumbledore, couldn’t understand.”

“You deny us for gold?”

“YES! I deny you for gold, for power!”

Hugh shook his head. “I’ll not ask again, Arthur. That is for you or Molly.”

“Percy?” Ron cringed to hear the pain in his mother’s voice. “It’s not too late, son. You can still come back to us.”

“To what? To a hovel, to land we don’t even own?”

“What happened, Percy?” Ron jolted. Hermione had spoken. “At school you were good and kind, you helped us. You were head boy! Why are you like this now?”

“So was the Dark Lord; he was head boy, too.” Percy’s eyes found Ron’s. “You’re a stupid fool, Ron; do you honestly think I didn’t know about Scabbers? Shame all your brains are in the Mudblood slut’s head.”

Nobody stopped Ron this time, no hands grabbed him, no voice in his head calmed him. He felt a bone in his fist crack as it impacted Percy’s jaw. Arthur and Charlie didn’t bother to hold Percy as he sailed backward from the force of Ron’s blow to lie sprawled on the ground.

The blood rushing though his head deafened him as in the distance Ron heard one of the twins say, “Have it at him.” Ron moved forward, one punch wasn’t enough. He wanted to beat Percy, to cripple him, to kill him!

He walked into Charlie and his father’s arms. “That’s enough, son.” His father’s voice gentle in his ear, “He’s not worth your dignity.”

“Ron? Ron please.” Hermione’s arms were around him, her face buried in his back. “You can’t beat the darkness out of him.”

“She’s right, Ronald,” Hugh said. “The darkness consumes him. He has denied us not thrice, but four times.”

The old man sighed. “We must take what he denies. I can do this for you, Arthur.”

“No,” Ron’s father replied. “It’s my responsibility.”

“No Dad,” Charlie said. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

The siblings gathered around their father- Bill, Charlie, George, Fred, Ron and Ginny. Their mother joined them beckoning to Fleur, Angelina and Chris. Hermione was still clinging to Ron.

“Take what was given in birth,” Hugh said. “Scatter it to the four winds, let those who need it, find it.” He nodded toward Hermione. “Sometimes it comes back to us.”

“Weasley no more!”

Fin.

***

Next Chapter Blurp:

A diversion, a story that goes back to before Harry, Ron and Hermione, were even born.

A tale of Charlie Weasley – “The Lovers”. (They should never have let me read D H Lawrence)

Author’s Note:  
1\. I’m sure most of you figured out who the blood traitor was, if you didn’t SHAME ON YOU.

2\. Do me a favour, read the next chapter completely.

Beta’s Notes:

Yes! Please read the chapter completely before you judge. Enjoy!


	15. The  Lovers

  
Author's notes: With apologies to D H Lawrence.  


* * *

The Lovers.

By alloy  
 __

_Some stories are long in time, but short in telling, this is one of those. It begins at the beginning in childhood_  
:

“Say ‘Uncle,’ Charlie, Say ‘Uncle.’”

“Never!” wheezed Charlie despite his cousin’s expert headlock.

“What’s going on here, Chris?”

“Uncle Arthur?”

“Hah!” said Charlie as he squeezed out of his cousin’s hold. “You said ‘Uncle.’”

“I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to your Da…’”

“He’s not even your uncle, he’s…”

“Charles.” His father’s tone bore warning.

“My Dad’s your cousin!” said Charlie ignoring his father. “Not even a first cousin, ‘cause your Dad’s his cousin, he’s your second cousin, which makes me your third cousin, and that’s so far away that it’s like we’re not even related.”

“That suits me fine!”

“Well I hate you!”

“I hate you more!”

“Neither of you,” said Arthur, “hates anyone, especially not your cousin.”

“I can still call you ‘Uncle’ can’t I?”

“Of course you can, Chris. Now lets hurry, we don’t want dinner to get cold.”

 

_Cousins (especially Weasley cousins) united in hunger quickly raise a flag of truce, but a tone is set for the journey into youth_.

 

“So Barnes, is this the Quidditch team that’s going win Gryffindor the cup?”

“Absolutely Professor,” said Steven Barnes, throwing the Weasley cousins a warning look. “If Chris and Charlie don’t kill each other first.” The latter, though muttered under his breath, raised Minerva McGonagall’s eyebrow.

“Don’t worry, Professor,” said Chris. “I’ll keep the Quaffle out for so long, Charlie won’t even need to catch the snitch.”

“Hah!” said Charlie. “I’d better catch it quickly then.”

Minerva McGonagall smiled. The cousins had been competing from the moment they set foot in Hogwarts and she had been enjoying every moment of it. “We should be safe, Barnes, as long you don’t make them beaters. Merlin help us should any Weasley become a beater.”

Gryffindor went undefeated that year winning the cup convincingly, and eventually the head of Gryffindor house was forced to choose between the cousins. But Charlie with typical Weasley stubbornness would only serve as Captain if Chris Weasley was his vice.

_And so companions in childhood, teammates in youth, the seeds are sown for something more as adulthood approaches, a ball._

 

“So where’s Tonks?” said Chris.

“Gone to powder her nose, or change it or something.”

“Not dancing?”

“You kidding? Tonks is terrified of the dance floor. Why aren’t you dancing?”

“Robin and I only came as mates.” There’s a wistful tone to Chris’s voice, “Says I’m too tall to dance with anyway.”

Even sitting next to each other Charlie still had to look up to meet Chris’s eyes.

“I’d dance with you,” Charlie blushed. “I mean I’ve only ever danced with Mum and Bill, and Bill’s taller than me.”

“Get real, Charlie, we’d be the laughing stock of Hogwarts.”

“Yeah we would, wouldn’t we?”

“Charlie?”

“Yeah, Chris.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

_A complicated dance is begun_.

 

“I’m sorry, Charlie, the job’s been filled.”

“Bugger!” said Charlie, barely restraining himself from slamming his fist into the desk. “Hagrid said he’d put in a word.”

“He did, Charlie, he did, but he put in a word for someone else as well and that person got in first.”

“I’m gonna get Chris for this.”

“Well you guessed right, Charlie, but listen, don’t fret. How do you feel about Romania?”

“Romania?”

“Ridgebacks, Charlie, not gentle like our Welsh Greens’.”

“Chris doesn’t know about this?”

“I only found out about this last night. My mate’s desperate for someone. He knows Hagrid, I’m sure he’d take his recommendation.”

“I’ll take it, Jack,” Charlie said, “On one condition.”

 

“What’s that?”

“Chris knows about it,” Charlie grinned. “Once I’m gone, of course.”

_For a time, ships must pass in the night. The Triwizard Tournament._

“How’s Romania, Charlie?” Chris Weasley came and sat beside him. Charlie really had to look up now; his cousin it seems had grown taller in the last few years.”

“It’s wet and cold. Much like home except the Dragons keep things toasty.”

Chris nodded toward the arena where Charlie had just finished setting up the Ridgeback. “Nasty critter’s those Ridgebacks.”

“Your Welsh Green looked pretty aggressive.”

“Gwendolyn? She’s a big softy, really, if you know how to handle her.”

“And you do?”

“Of course.”

“If you came to Romania you could play with real Dragons.”

“Welsh Green’s are real.”

“They’re not Ridgebacks.”

“Is that a dare, Charlie?”

“You bet.”

“You said its cold.”

“Plenty of ways to keep warm.”

 

_What Weasley can resist a dare?_

 

“You’re a tall one?”

“Must have been something in the water.”

Charlie grinned to himself. He knew that voice.

“We work with Dragons here.”

“I didn’t get this burn from a Hinkypuff.”

“Ridgeback’s a different beast, not tame like those Welsh Green’s you’re used to.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Alright then, you’ll work with Charlie, he’ll look after you.”

The chuckle too was familiar. “Who’ll look after Charlie?”

The table robustly constructed of railway sleepers, shuddered as Chris’s bag dropped onto it. Charlie looked up into his cousin’s clear green eyes. “You came.”

“You said it was exciting.” Chris glanced around before sitting. “Look’s a bit dull to me.”

Charlie grinned, “It just got a whole lot livelier.”

The orchestra of life plays a tune more suited.

 

“Owww! Damnit, Chris that hurts.”

“Of course it hurts, it’s a Dragon bite. It’s meant to hurt!”

“Whose bright idea was that?”

“Dragons’ I reckon. They don’t bite us ‘cause we taste nice.”

Chris completed the final knot on the rough suture. “I never was going to win any sewing prizes, but this should do.”

Charlie twisted his head to peruse his cousin’s handiwork. “Mum will have a fit if she sees this.”

“Your Dad will appreciate it, though.”

Charlie nodded. “You bet.”

“Well if you require no more surgery, I’ll be on my way.”

Charlie reached out and grabbed hold of Chris’s hand. “Stay,” he said. “Spend the night with me.”

“It’s got to mean something, Charlie.”

Their eyes met. “It will.”

_Lines are crossed._

Charlie’s hand hurt, yet he pulled back his fist for another blow; his opponent struggled halfheartedly to rise, standing on his own feet for the briefest moment before collapsing backward over a bench, his arms raised in a defensive posture. Only Chris’s hands on his arm halted Charlie. “He’s done, Charlie.”

“You leave us alone, you hear?” Charlie could feel the seething burning rage in his chest. “How we live is none of your damn business.”

“Come on.” Still holding on to Charlie’s arm, Chris led him out of the bar. It was only once they were finally outside that Charlie noticed.

“Your knuckles are bleeding.”

“Happens when you fight, Charlie, yours are too.”

“I love you, Chris.”

Chris stopped dead. “I reckon I know that already, Charlie. I reckon you know how I feel about you.”

Their lips met, not for the first time, tongues entwined until Charlie finally broke it off. “You’re too damn tall to do this standing up.”

“Your bed’s too short.”

Laughing, hand in hand, they make their way back to their cabin and to the awaiting owl.

The headmaster’s dead!

The news of Albus Dumbledore’s death had shaken both cousins, driving amorous thoughts from their heads. They prepared and ate supper in a mournful silence. As they climbed into bed that evening Charlie returned to the letter.

“Bill want’s me to be his best man.”

Chris’s hand was spayed over his naked chest, “Can’t think of a better man myself.” “He wants the rest of them to be groomsmen.”

“Even Percy?”

Charlie shook his head. “He doesn’t think Percy will come at all, but he had to ask, for Mum’s sake.”

“Is Ron going to be a page boy?”

Charlie chuckled. “Ron’s seventeen. He’s probably as tall as you are now.”

“My word.”

“Wait, there’s something about Ron in here. Here it is. Bill says he’s agreed to be a groomsman, but he’ll only dance with Ginny or Hermione.”

“Hermione?”

“Hermione Granger, she’s a Muggleborn witch he met at Hogwarts. They’ve been friends for ages.”

“For ages? That can get frustrating.”

Charlie blushed. “They’re together now according to Bill and…”

“And….?”

“Ginny’s going out with Harry Potter.”

“Wow! What does big brother think about that?”

“Bill thinks its okay and I agree with him, Harry’s a good kid.” Charlie took a deep breath. “You’re coming with me right? I mean this is as good a time as any to tell the family.”

Chris nodded. “Da’ will want to speak to you, though.”

Charlie cringed and Chris laughed. “Don’t worry he won’t hex you.”

“That’s the least of my worries, the only person bigger than your dad is Hagrid.”

“And they’re both big softies.”

“Merlin, I hope so.”

_All flowers in the garden must bloom, sometime._

“You’d think we’d be used to it?” thought Charlie as they danced. Chris stood almost a head taller than Charlie, and Charlie was hard pressed to resist placing his head on Chris’s chest.

His family’s reaction had been mixed. Bill had given him the thumbs up, Percy absent, Fred and George made some remarks, but Fred’s girlfriend seemed to have some measure of control over the pair, so the ribbing was short lived. Ron…Ron was one of a whole different planet.

Chris’s family were the one’s to watch out for, though. Chris’s brother’s shot warning glances at Charlie and Donavan Weasley seem to be fairly glowing.

“Fair to say we’ve made an impact,” Chris said.

“Yeah,” replied Charlie, and then his thought processes were horribly derailed by the apparition of a Death Eater before their eyes.

Chris reacted first; a hard fist knocking the Death Eater’s mask from her face. Charlie was aghast to note that she had been a Gryffindor housemate.

“The wards,” said Chris. “Someone’s raised them. Who was it? I thought only Grandpa Hugh could raise them so quickly?”

“It’s Ron,” Charlie said even as he spotted his youngest brother exit the house accompanied by his Muggleborn girlfriend.

What happened next happened so quickly that even the next day Charlie had trouble unraveling it in his mind.

Even as Charlie added his own magic to the wards, Ron collapsed to the ground. Hermione looked frantic, uncertain what to do and the unthinkable happened; a Death Eater apparated through the wards.

“Percy,” said Chris echoing Charlie’s thought and they watched as the young witch dueled, protecting the younger brother against the older.

“Do you see her, Charlie? Somehow she’s connected to the wards.”

“Merlin!” exclaimed Charlie. “He’s married her!”

****_“Let the boy stand alone!” Uncle Hugh’s voice rang through Charlie’s head.  
_ _  
_

“You’re smothering him, Charlie, let it go.”

**_“Take the battle outside.”_ **

“Be careful, Chris,” Charlie said.

“Take your own advice, Charlie Weasley.” And the Weasley cousins engaged the battle proper.

*

 

**Weasley no more!**

 

*

 

It was only Chris’s arms around him that eased the cold inside Charlie. “He wanted it that way, Charlie; he didn’t want to be a Weasley.” Chris shuddered. “I don’t understand, the thought of not being a Weasley scares me more than anything.”

“Chris.”

“Yes Da’.”

“I’m going home now, your mother’s expecting you home tonight for supper.” Chris nodded.

“Alright Da’.”

“Charlie?”

“Uncle Donavan?”

“Come see me next week? We’ve a few things to talk about.”

“Yes sir.”

Chris’s father, a huge bear of a man, placed a kindly hand on Charlie’s shoulder and wordlessly disapparated.

“I’ve got to go, too.”

“I know.” Charlie grabbed a handful of Chris’s midnight locks drawing her closer to him, his lips finding hers, almost brutal in their urgency. “I’ll find you tomorrow,” Charlie said.

“You have to,” she replied and then she was gone, leaving behind the faintest odour of her scent, her namesake flower, the faintest _odour of Chrysanthemums._

Fin

With humble apologies to DH Lawrence.

Next Chapter Blurp:

“Aftermath.” All the secrets are out and now Molly has to deal with everything.

Author’s note:  
1\. If you’ve read this far, you’re probably a little hacked off. Good. Imagine how Sandy felt when I mailed her the story in installments.

2\. This story bares some similarities to http://www.checkmated.com/story.php?story=1867 by

http://www.checkmated.com/authors.php?name=LilyMichelle, I read her story some while ago, before writing this chapter, and only realized the similarities on rereading it. I think the stories are different enough, make your own decision.

Beta’s note:  
Hope you were all intrigued enough to finish as I was to make sure you weren’t reading something out of Brokeback Mountain. But that’s alloy for you. Hope you enjoyed!


	16. Aftermath

The guests offered muted condolences before leaving. In silence the Weasley clan helped clean up, each disappearing wordlessly as their job was completed. An eerie emptiness descended over the Burrow. 

"You’ve hurt your hand Ron," Molly said. "Let me fix that for you."

"Don’t worry, Mum. I’m sure Hermione can do it."

Molly blinked back the tears as the young muggleborn witch waved her wand over Ron’s hand, murmuring the spell. Her youngest son, the frightened and insecure little boy she had sent to Hogwarts, had married not only the cleverest young witch of their generation, he had married his soul-mate.

__

"One day," Molly thought. _"One day, Sylvia and I will tell them the truth."_

__

Ron had hurt his hand punching Percy as no one had tried to stop him: he had been defending his wife’s honour. It was something every Weasley understood, something every Weasley approved of.

But Percy’s words rang through her mind, _"Do you honestly think I didn’t know about Scabbers?"_

Percy had betrayed his brother a long time ago. He had used the killing curse today, an unforgivable, aimed at his brother, his own flesh and blood. Molly could hold back the tears no longer.

She had felt it as her husband and children had ripped Percy’s birthright from him, taking the magic, not for themselves, but scattering it. She had felt it, but Hermione had seen it. A Weasley talent everyone had felt certain would disappear when Hugh began his final journey.

"The girl needs training," the old man had said to Arthur.

"It won’t take much," Arthur had replied. 

"I know. Albus was particularly impressed with her." Hugh had grabbed Arthur’s hand. "The boy too. He’s as strong as I once was, stronger."

Arthur had nodded. "I’ll tell them."

"Good. I’ll be at Donovan’s Den."

"Is he a squib now?" Molly had to ask now, before the old man left.

"No, there’s some magic left, but…" the old man glanced at Harry, "Its dark, Molly. It’s a not a darkness that can be filled with love, it’s a vile darkness that’s growing. It’s been growing for a long time."

__

"Do you honestly think I didn’t know about Scabbers?" 

__

"Don’t dwell on it, Molly."

"How can you say that, Arthur, he was your son, too?"

"I’ve had to deal with him at the Ministry, Molly; I’ve done my hurting one day at a time for the past two years." 

"The hurt will ease, Arthur, I know, you have the remedy there," Hugh pointed at Hermione who was now gently kissing Ron’s hand, "And there." Fred was attending to a nasty cut on Angelina’s arm.

"Tell Frederick he is to introduce his wife to me next week, on Wednesday I think would be best, and tell him to bring some of those Day Dream charms. He knows the ones I prefer. Now I’d better be going, Donovan gets nervous if I apparate after dark." He waved the vague general wave of a blind man, "goodbye." With a soft pop the old wizard and his wheelchair were gone.

"Let’s go inside, Molly." Arthur put his hands around her and led her gently into the Burrow. Their children followed.

Molly noticed Harry pausing at the door as if uncertain to enter even as the rest of the family found seats. She nudged Arthur.

"Come in, Harry, please. You are a member of this family."

Harry entered the living room, then went and sat down on the floor at Ginny’s feet.

"Now that we are all here," Arthur said. "There are a couple of things that need clarifying. First off, Harry’s guardianship. I know your birthday’s next week, Harry, but until then your guardianship rests with Molly and I as it has since the death of the Professor Dumbledore." Arthur chuckled, a wry humourless sound. "The minister was very unhappy about that I might add: he wished to make you a ward of the state."

"Are you saying that Professor Dumbledore has been my guardian all along?"

"Since your parents death, yes."

"What about Sirius?"

"Sirius was a convicted murderer, Harry, which immediately disqualified him."

Molly spoke up. "We tried to adopt you, Harry, after the summer when you first visited us, thinking that the Dursley’s were really your guardians. The headmaster had to step in and explain the situation to us. That’s when he made us his successor in this respect."

"What we’re trying say, Harry, is that you are to regard this house as your house." Arthur glanced around the full room. "I’m not sure where you’re sleeping tonight, but it will be under this roof."

"Can’t share with me, mate, I found somebody prettier." Hermione giggled nervously at Ron’s off the cuff remark and the twins chuckled.

"On a more serious note, Harry, I would like to explain what happened with Percy."

"You did something to him; Hermione said you took his magic away."

"That’s essentially correct, Harry. But let me explain properly. When Percy attacked Ron, he turned against his own brother, his own flesh. That is the worst crime a Weasley can commit, that is what we call a blood traitor. Then he denied the family. He denied Molly and I, Ron and he insulted Hermione."

__

"Do you honestly think I didn’t know about Scabbers? Shame all your brains are in the mudblood slut’s head!"

__

"That’s when Ron punched him?"

"Bloody good shot, too," said George before his father glared at him.

"Yes, Ron punched him and then we took his magic away."

"How did you do that?"

"The Muggles would say we removed his Weasley gene." 

Arthur caught Hermione’s surprised look. "I’m not quite as eccentric as I’ve led you to believe, Hermione." He turned back to Harry. "You understand what we did now?"

"Yes, he can’t go through the wards or raise them anymore."

"And he will be turned away from any Weasley house in the world." There was hopeless sad timbre to Molly’s voice. "He’s dead to us." She turned to Fleur. "I’m so sorry that this had to happen on your wedding day."

Fleur shook her head. "Eet does not matter; eet will be remembered zat on zis day, ze Dark Wizard was defied by ma famille, by my new bruzzers and sisters, my new maman and papa."

Charlie stood up. "I, for one, am going to look to the positive," he said. "I’ve got three beautiful new sisters to kiss and I’m hoping they won’t scratch and bite like the one I’ve already got."

"You used to be my favourite brother, Charlie Weasley," came Ginny’s outraged reply, "And now…now it’s Harry!"

"I think you want Harry as more than a brother, Gin!" said George who had to duck her swinging hand, and then he rounded on Charlie. "And just what secrets have you been keeping, big brother?"

Charlie blushed. "Me and Chris, well it gets a bit cold in Romania." 

"She eez a Weasley, oui?" Fleur asked. "'Er 'air eez wonderfully black." 

"Chris is foundling," Arthur said. "Donovan woke up one morning to find her in a bed of Chrysanthemums."

"I didn’t know she was a girl," Hermione said. "I mean, she’s the same Chris Weasley who was your Vice-Captain on the Quidditch team, isn’t she?"

"Yes, she was. How did you know that?"

Harry laughed. "I think Hermione knows everything there is to know about Weasleys at Hogwarts. Don’t you, ‘Mione?"

 

Hermione blushed and shot Harry a death glare. Charlie spoke again. "Chris was the best Keeper Gryffindor’s ever had."

"Ron’s the best," said Hermione sharply.

It was George who laughed first, followed surprisingly by Fleur, and then Charlie wrapped Hermione in a hug. 

Molly smiled, the laughter was weak at first and then it strengthened, as the family affirmed its bonds and created new ones. Hermione blushed again as Charlie said how pretty she was, and Harry nervously broke off kissing Ginny as he noticed they were being watched.

"Stay until your birthday, Harry," Molly said. She gestured to Ron and Hermione. "Give them a little time together."

Harry smiled a smile of pure happiness that seemed so rare to him. "Alright," he nodded, but there was something else.

"What is it, Harry?"

"Mum?" the boy blushed. "Would that be alright? I mean, you are my guardian."

Molly opened her arms. "That would be perfect, son," she said hugging him close. 

Molly couldn’t do anything about the darkness in Percy, but she could certainly help fill the darkness in Harry and maybe, just maybe, this orphan child could help heal the hurt in her. 

Something new rang through her ears, drowning out Percy’s awful words. 

__

"Mum," said Harry’s timid voice.

__

"Maman," the words sounding strange out of Fleur’s mouth.

__

"Mum," said Angelina on Fred’s arm.

__

"Mum," confirmed Hermione, the gift she had given. 

__

"Mum." The word Arthur had spoken to her when he had first felt life in her belly. 

__

Mothers carry on, that’s what they do, always in the… 

__****

Aftermath.

****

 

***

Midnight Confessions Chapter 17 By alloy

Beta’ed by Sandy

Fleur guest voiced by Kelly (kjcp)

Authors Note: Lines in italics are thoughts running through Molly’s head.


	17. Closure

Closure.

By alloy

Neville had a headache, he also had a large purple bruise on his forehead and he didn’t think that he was going to sleep very well. On the bright side, his grandmother seemed to getting on with Mandy.

Neville had invited Mandy Brocklehurst to spend the summer at his house without first consulting his grandmother. He had expected resistance to the idea, but his grandmother had warmed to the young Muggleborn witch almost immediately.

Neville himself was confused: on the one hand he really liked Mandy. She was his first girlfriend, the first girl to kiss him, and almost the first girl to look beneath his admittedly podgy exterior.

Mandy said she thought she loved him. She had said it in typical Ravenclaw fashion couched in ‘if’s, ‘when’s and ‘but’s, but underneath it all Neville recognised that the clever young witch was just as afraid of rejection as he was. And while Neville didn’t want to reject her, he was determined to be honest. Mandy was not (if he did indeed love her) Neville’s first love.

Neville Longbottom had been in love with Hermione Granger from the moment he had met her, but he had long since become resigned to the fact that his love would remain unrequited. Hermione was in love with Ron Weasley, and Neville had lived long enough with his grandmother to know that strong clever witches made up their own minds. That no amount of wizard’s charm (not that Neville felt he had any) was likely to change that.

His real worry this morning lay in this morning’s edition of the Daily Prophet.  
 ****  
“Death Eaters Attack Weasley Nuptials”

 

 

 

The headline had sent Neville scurrying to the fireplace in an effort to see if his friends were alright. He had flung the floo powder down shouting, “The Burrow”.

He had swirled through the floo network, a familiar sensation in his stomach told him that he was nearing his destination, and then…Neville felt as if he had hit a brick wall.

He awoke to find Humphrey, his grandmother’s stodgy house elf, applying an ice pack to a large bump on his forehead as his grandmother read the story in the daily prophet out loud.

What was supposed to be a joyous occasion for the Weasley family nearly turned into tragedy as a group of Death Eaters believed to be led by ‘You Know Who’ attacked the family’s ancestral home.

 

_William Weasley, eldest son of Arthur & Molly Weasley, tied the knot with Fleur Delacour, a former Triwizard champion, in a charming lunch time ceremony attended by family and friends. The guest list included Harry Potter, a close personal friend of William’s youngest brother, Rupert, and currently a ward of Arthur and Molly. It is he who was believed to be the target of the attack._

__

 

_The attack was thwarted when the family invoked ancient protective wards surrounding the property trapping a number of Death Eaters inside their property, and ultimately causing the remaining Death Eaters including “You Know Who” to flee._

__

 

_Twenty two Death Eaters now sit in ministry custody, and a further two have been confirmed dead. Miraculously, while many Weasleys and their guests suffered injuries, there were no fatalities._

__

Neville breathed a sigh of relief; at least Hermione, Ron and Harry were still alive.

 

_The Weasley family remained tight lipped as to which of its members actually raised the wards which defied “You Know Who,” but the guest list is believed to have included Hugh Weasley, a former Hogwarts headmaster renowned for his mastery of ward magic._

 

 

Neville noticed a small smile on his grandmother’s face as she turned to Mandy.

“When I was your age, dear, Hugh Weasley was considered rather dishy, even if he was the Headmaster.”

Augusta Longbottom sighed and shook the newspaper. “I dare say it must have been Hugh. The poor man’s been a recluse for years now, but there’s no questioning his courage or his magic.”

Humphrey suddenly appeared at her elbow. “A Missus and Mister Weasley have just arrived, Madam.”

“Which mister and missus, Humphrey?” Augusta Longbottom asked.

“How many are there?” interjected Mandy. “Mister and Missus Weasleys, I mean.”

“Oh, I don’t think anybody knows that answer to that, dear. Though, I personally know thirteen couples.” She turned to the elf, “So Humphrey?”

“Missus Hermione and Mister Ronald, Ma’am. They’ve asked to visit master Neville in private.”

“Ron and Hermione aren’t married,” Mandy said chuckling. “They just argue so much, it seems that way.”

Neville heard his grandmother’s reply as he hurried after the house elf. “Perhaps they do my dear, but it’s still a very strange mistake for Humphrey to make.”

Neville’s friends were waiting for him in the drawing room. Both Ron and Hermione were dressed in jeans and T-shirts. Neville ran his eyes over his two friends looking for obvious injuries. He lingered enjoying the curves that were usually covered by school robes, noting also Ron’s thumb casually hooked through one of the loops on Hermione’s waist.

“You’re not hurt?” he asked.

“Nah!” came a reply from Ron. “We got lucky. Dad and Fred probably got the worst of it.”

“Oh, they’re fine,” said Hermione, “Just a few cuts and bruises.”

“And Harry?”

“He’s okay, too, safe and sound behind the Burrow’s wards.”

Neville gingerly touched the bruise on his forehead. “I found about those the hard way.”

Ron winced in sympathy. “The Burrow’s locked down tight; no one gets in or out unless they’re a Weasley.”

Neville glanced at Hermione. “How did you get out?”

His friends shared a look, something Neville had seen before, something that told him they had a secret that he had stumbled upon.

“It’s what we actually came to tell you, Neville.” Hermione held out her left hand toward him.

“Hermione’s a Weasley now, mate.”

For a moment, just a moment, Neville wanted to pounce on Ron, wrestle him to the ground, and beat him to a pulp. But the moment passed and Neville took in the simple sapphire ring on Hermione’s finger. “Wow,” he said. “Wow.”

He held out his hand to Ron who took it and shook it firmly. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. “It’s still supposed to be a secret,” she said. “So we’d appreciate it if you kept it quiet.”

Neville nodded. “Be careful,” he said. “Humphrey knows.”

“Humphrey?”

“The House-Elf, Ronald.” Hermione shook her head. “Honestly. I asked him his name.”

Ron winked.

Neville understood.

Ron Weasley was Hermione’s balance, her counterweight. She couldn’t help but choose him.

Choose him over Viktor Krum, or Harry Potter or Neville Longbottom.

Neville didn’t hear Hermione’s explanation of house-elf powers; how Humphrey could obviously see the Weasley magic that now bound her to Ron’s family. It was as if Neville was viewing it all from a great distance with absolute clarity.

“Neville, we have to go,” Ron said.

“What’s going to happen?” Neville asked.

“We’re going away, Neville,” Hermione said, “With Harry.”

Again Neville understood. The details were neither Ron nor Hermione’s to divulge.

“If you need help…”

“We know where to find you, mate.”

Hermione leant forward kissing him on the cheek. “Keep safe, Neville,” she said, her words almost drowned by the sound of the couple Disapparating.

“How long have you been in love with her?”

Neville whirled around to find Mandy in the doorway. He shrugged. “Since I met her, I reckon.’”

“Where does that leave me?”

“I don’t know, Mandy. I like you. I like you a lot.”

“Do you love me?”

“I think…I think I’d like to try?” he replied.

“And Hermione?”

“She’s with Ron.”

“You don’t want to fight for her?”

“There’s nothing to fight for, Mandy.”

Mandy nodded and Neville took her head in his hands, her lips into a kiss.

After a moment Neville broke the kiss.

“I wish I could tell you everything about me,” he said. “Tell you every secret, but some secrets aren’t mine to tell you.”

Mandy nodded. “I understand.”

“There is one, though,” Neville continued. “That’s my deepest secret.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I do.”

Neville drew Mandy to the fire, preparing it with floo powder, he wrapped his arms around her and stepped into the fire.

“St. Mungo’s!” he bellowed.

Fin.

 


	18. Fathers & Sons

Fathers and Sons.  
  
By alloy  
  
Like two knights of old the two men faced each other; their jousting field- the kitchen table of their ancestral home. Their weapons- a chess set.  
  
Two pairs of legs stretched out underneath the table. Unconsciously, the younger man's stance aped the elder as two pairs of elbows support heads bearing identical frowns of concentration.  
  
The elder carried more heft, the younger more height.  
  
Molly Weasley had to smile. This game was an unusual occurrence; time and circumstance rarely permitted it. Though Arthur had taught all his children the game, it was only her youngest son who had the talent to challenge his sire.  
  
A young woman leant over the younger man, resting her arms gently on his shoulders. Her light summer blouse, while modest and not form fitting, did little to hide the feminine curves that had not been there when Molly had first met this clever young witch.  
  
The girl's bushy chestnut hair was partially tamed into a ponytail, but Molly couldn't help notice an errant lock; her son gently toying with it even as he gestured to a pawn to move forward.  
  
She had watched them grow up, watched their hearts grow entwined over the years even as their bodies and minds matured.  
  
Molly leant over her husband, her lover, consciously mimicking her daughter-in-law's stance. Arthur's hand came up automatically to cover hers even as he issued his own chess pieces an instruction.  
  
"Hermione, dear," Molly said. "I think this is going to take awhile."  
  
"I was hoping to see Ron lose for once."  
  
Ron gently tugged the lock of chestnut hair in his hand. "You're supposed to be on my side, remember."  
  
"She's a clever girl, Ron. Knows who's head of this house."  
  
Molly squeezed her husband's shoulder even as she gestured for Hermione to follow her out of the kitchen.  
  
The gamesmanship had begun. She knew that her husband and son would exchange friendly insults as the game intensified.  
  
Molly ignored Ron's response and led Hermione through the livingroom to Arthur's small study. This room like every other room in the Burrow, following William and Fleurs wedding, currently boasted a bed.  
  
Closing the door behind her, Molly gestured for Hermione to sit on the bed and then joined her daughter-in-law.  
  
Molly drew a deep breath. This wasn't going to be easy. She forced a smile onto her face. "I was hoping we could have a private chat," Molly said.  
  
Hermione sat hands in her lap.  
  
"What about, Mrs. Weasley?"  
  
Molly patted the younger woman's thigh.  
  
"It's 'mum,' dear. I want you to feel you can come to me with any problems you may have, as if I were your mother."  
  
Hermione nodded, a small smile formed and Molly decided to plough straight on.  
  
"I wanted to talk to you about matters of intimacy." Hermione opened her mouth, but Molly quickly raised her hand and continued. "Don't worry,” she said. "I sure your mum had a talk with you when the time came, just as I talked to Ginny and I'm not going to go over that again. However, your mum isn't a witch, and there are a few things only a witch can tell you." Molly paused and then pulled her wand from her apron.  
  
"Wands, for example- you should be very cautious about letting wizards use or touch your wand."  
  
"Ron and Ginny explained wand etiquette to me," Hermione said. "Ron and I exchanged wands like Bill and Fleur did."  
  
Molly’s face broke into a broad smile, and she spontaneously hugged the younger woman.  
  
“I’m so glad,” she said. “Arthur and I feel very strongly that it’s the proper start for a young couple.”  
  
"What else, Mum?"  
  
Molly felt some of the tension leave her; if nothing else, this young woman was always eager to learn.  
  
"Contraception," Molly said. "Arthur tells me that Muggles have their means of contraception, something called 'the pill' and 'confonds'.  
  
The young witch blushed. "I think you mean 'condoms,' Mum."  
  
"Ah yes, well Arthur says that they are freely available, whatever they are."  
  
"Latex condoms are a form of barrier contraception." Hermione’s blush seemed to deepen, "Suitable for preventing pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases."  
  
Hermione had rattled off the description in parrot fashion, leaving Molly more confused than before.  
  
"But how would one use it, dear?"  
  
"We wouldn't," Hermione said. "Ron or...Mr. Weasley would have to wear it on their..."  
  
Comprehension dawned for Molly and she quicky interrupted. "You mean a French Letter."  
  
Hermione nodded, "Yes."  
  
"Most unsatisfactory," Molly said. "Luckily as a witch you have other means."  
  
"Bring out your wand, dear, and I'll teach you the charms for contraception and pregnancy detection."  
  
It didn't take long; the young witch was an even faster learner than her son had boasted. Molly had nodded in approval as the familiar sparks of the common contraception charm filled the air above the bed.  
  
"What happens if I don't do it correctly?" Hermione asked.  
  
"Well..." said Molly with a laugh, "I called the first mistake- William, and the last- Ronald."  
  
"But nothing bad can happen if you make a mistake with the spell can it?"  
  
"No dear, nothing bad can happen."  
  
"Good," Hermione said. "I wouldn't want my mistakes to affect any child we might have."  
  
"Have you discussed it with Ron?" Molly asked. "Children, I mean."  
  
Hermione nodded. "It's something we both want, when the time is right. After the war, after we finish our educations. It's something I want with Ron."  
  
“You’re both so young,” Molly said.  
  
“No younger than you and Mr. Weasley were.”  
  
Molly smiled. “That’s also true, and I’ve never regretted marrying him, not once.”  
  
“Not even when the twins were born?”  
  
“Not even then.”  
  
Both of them laughed.  
  
“Weasley men are stubborn, irritating, opinionated creatures,” Molly said. “I think you know that already.”  
  
Hermione nodded. “That’s Ron in a nutshell.”  
  
“They’re also brave, loyal, and loving,” Molly added.  
  
“Also Ron in a nutshell.”  
  
“Arthur too,” Molly stood up holding her hand to Hermione. “Lets go see how our ‘Nuts’ are doing then.”  
  
The two women entered the kitchen in time to see Arthur order his king off the board in retirement.  
  
Molly stopped in her tracks, grasping Hermione’s arm she whispered in her ear, “That’s the very first time Ron’s beaten him.”  
  
“Well done, son,” said Arthur offering his hand to his offspring.  
  
Hermione had seen Ron win many a chess match. He was undoubtedly the Master of Gryffindor tower, and in Hermione’s opinion, Ron was often a very poor winner. This time, however, instead of his customary victory dance, Ron simply took his father’s hand.  
  
“Best of three?” he said.  
  
Arthur paused for a moment. “Why not?” he said. “Don’t get used to the taste of victory, Ron. It won’t last long.”  
  
Molly rounded the table as both men chuckled, and enveloped her son in a crushing hug while planting a wet smacking kiss on his cheek.  
  
“Mum,” Ron protested rubbing his cheek. “What was that for?”  
  
“For being your father’s son,” his mother said.  
  
Ron looked bemused at his wife, even as Hermione hugged her father-in-law, planting a light peck on his cheek.  
  
Then she whispered, “That’s for being your son’s father.”  
  
Fin


	19. Cats Eye View

Cats Eye View.

By alloy.

It was the weight on his chest that awoke Harry. He had been dreaming; dreaming about things he shouldn’t have been dreaming about. A girl- a buxom, copper haired lass, who seemed eternally out of his reach, who caused a monster in his chest to both roar and whimper.

It was the copper that caught his eye before he could find his glasses, and he hoped for the briefest moment that she had come to wake him up, today, on his birthday of all days.

It was Crookshanks. Harry wondered what possessed Hermione’s cat to come to him at this early hour of the morning, to lie on his chest.

The cat’s eyes bore into his, unblinking, and Harry couldn’t help but speculate what thoughts lay underneath the ginger fur that was almost the exact same colour as Ron’s hair. He couldn’t help but be captured by the cat’s eyes.

“Legilimens,” he murmured. The spell drawn unbidden from his lips and his world changed to black and white.

Suddenly he was in Ron’s bedroom, by the window, no…in the window, on the sill. It was dark, far too dark for human eyes, yet Harry found he could see perfectly. Ron and Hermione were in bed together. It seemed as if they were sharing a pair of pajamas. Ron’s leg was sticking out of the bedclothes indicating that he was wearing the grey and black striped trousers, while Hermione was wearing the shirt.

Suddenly Hermione sat up, she reached for her wand, she waved it and bright blinding sparks flew out. She said something which sounded very loud, but Harry realized that she was whispering. Hermione put down her wand with a loud clunk and Harry heard a rustle of bedclothes as Ron sat up behind her. Hermione smiled in the darkness as Ron put his arms around her; his hand snaking between the buttons of her jacket, Hermione leant back against Ron and let out a deafening moan. Harry could see the outline of Ron’s hand underneath the material over Hermione’s breast.

Over her breast!

“No! I shouldn’t be watching this!” and Harry yanked his mind away from Crookshanks.

The Ginger Tom stared at him and let out a sound which sounded surprisingly like Hermione’s snort of disgust.

“You wanted me to see that didn’t you?” Harry whispered, mindful of the cat’s sensitive ears.

The cat blinked. Harry brought up his hand scratch behind the feline’s ear. “Are you jealous?” The cat’s head seemed to dip beneath his fingers. “I’m afraid he’s a permanent fixture in your mummy’s life.”

Crookshanks shook himself, every whisker, every strand of fur, a flowing mosaic before Harry’s eyes.

“I guess you don’t like that idea.”

“How much had the cat seen? What could he see if he entered its mind again?” Harry shook his head, shoving that thought as far away from him as he could.

Whatever they were doing, Harry thought, they were allowed. Harry was there when they had committed them selves to each other, married each other.

Ron had wanted Harry to sign as witness, to perform that function in addition to that of best man, but Harry couldn’t, he wasn’t of age yet. So Fred and George, sober imposters of their normal selves, had signed. Hermione’s father had signed as well, granting them the authority, while Angelina had shared tissues with Hermione’s mother.

Ron had made him sign anyway and Harry had felt so very alone at Bill’s stag party.

The rest of their lives, however long or short, Ron and Hermione wanted to be together. Ron had talked to his father about a house, a cottage situated somewhere on the Burrow property where wedding guests had stayed. Ron had talked about driveways and plumbing and bookcases.

It startled Harry to think that Ron, who had always seemed to live for the here and now, was planning for the future.

The aching in Harry’s chest wasn’t just from Crookshanks, it was something else, a longing. “I want that too!”

“You are awake.” Hermione and Ron were dressed alike in muggle jeans and white T-shirts. They both entered the Burrow living room where Harry had been sleeping on the couch.

“Oh, there you are Crookshanks. I wondered where you had gone to.” Hermione went to recover her cat that jumped over the back of the couch away from her. Suddenly, Hermione was standing above Harry. “Crookshanks?” she said. Harry found his eyes drawn to her chest in the tight shirt, to the breast that Ron’s hand had covered earlier.

Harry shook his head and hoped that no one, especially Ron, had noticed. “I think he’s jealous,” Harry said.

“Too bad,” said Ron, as he came up behind Hermione and put his arms around her waist. Harry found his eyes drawn to the silver band on Ron finger, crafted to look like an eternal rope.

Ron hadn’t expected to receive a ring. Harry knew that he had been more concerned about getting a suitable ring for Hermione; that he had enlisted the twins in procuring the single most important element of a Weasley wedding. Then before the ceremony, Hermione’s mother had handed Harry a small velvet sack.

“She found it in a flea market as a little girl,” her mother had explained later, “Insisted we buy it, as if she knew somehow.”

“Happy Birthday, Harry!” Harry was jolted back to the present as Hermione handed him a scroll of parchment.

“It’s a joint present,” Ron said. “Little Lady got me watching the knuts you know.”

“Ronald!”

Harry laughed. It was amazing how easily his two friends fell into this simple routine of bickering. He looked down at the scroll in his hand.

“What’s this?”

“It’s your family tree,” Hermione said. “The Potter family tree that is.”

“Don’t worry, Harry,” said Ron melodramatically. “We still love you even though you’re related to Malfoy.”

“Ignore him, Harry. You’re more closely related to us than to the Malfoys.”

Harry looked at her. “Us?” he said.

“Weasleys, Harry,” said Ron. “Turns out the Longbottoms and the Weasleys are your closest relatives in the wizarding world. No other Potter’s left I’m afraid.”

Then the rest of the family came tumbling into the living room, interrupting their musings. Everyone wishing Harry a Happy Birthday before he was able to escape upstairs to the bathroom to have a shower and get changed.

*

Crookshanks was torturing him. Not only had the cat decided to adopt him for the day, persistently ignoring Hermione in the process, but the memory of his brief ‘cats-eye’ view of his two best friends had haunted him all morning.

It was as if he were seeing Hermione in a whole new light. She wasn’t just his bossy friend who scrubbed up rather nicely for the Yule Ball. Hermione had suddenly become a sensual creature.

Ron and Hermione were sitting on a blanket in the backyard. Other members of the family were scattered around on odd bits of garden furniture that had been collected over the years. As Harry watched, Hermione leant forward to speak to Angelina. Her tight white T-shirt rode up to reveal the small of her back and even as it did so Ron’s fingers were there gently caressing and then his hands slipped lower stroking her buttocks.

“Why are you looking at Hermione like that?”

Harry started and turned to Ginny who was sitting on the ground next to him. “I didn’t mean to.”

“But you were.”

“She’s different, Gin. Since her and Ron got married, she’s been so completely different to the girl I’ve known all these years.”

“Sexy.”

“What?”

“Sexy. Since she’s married Ron, she’s let her hair down, so to speak.”

“But why?”

“Hermione’s a girl; she wants to feel pretty and sexy.”

“But she never has before.”

“It wasn’t safe before.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s been in love with Ron for simply ages, but she wanted Ron to love her for her, not just for her body, or for snogging or shagging. That’s what most boys want, you know.”

“That’s what most boys think they want,” Harry said. “That’s what Ron thought he wanted with Lavender.” He turned to Ginny. “What he really wanted all along was Hermione.”

“Now he gets the sexy Hermione as a bonus.” Ginny moved closer to Harry until he could feel her breath on his ear. “It’s for him you know?” she whispered. “Not for anyone else but him.” Ginny pushed Harry hard so that he fell to his side. “You shouldn’t look.”

“What’s Ron doing now?”

Harry dared to look and saw that Ron had pulled out his wand, as they watched, he waved it. The spell that settled over Hermione was a glamour and suddenly it looked as if she had been transformed into a large black and white cat.

Ron waved his wand over himself and Harry chuckled, as his friend became a large sized version of Crookshanks.

Harry half expected Hermione to wave her wand and dismiss both illusions, but instead the black and white cat sauntered coyly around the garden as Ron began to stalk her.

“About time he figured that out,” Ginny said.

“What?”

“He makes her laugh. He’s always been able to. Ron’s not suave and sophisticated, but as long as he makes her laugh, they’ll be okay.”

“Do I make you laugh?” Harry asked.

“No, Potter, you’re not the type.”

“So what do I do?”

“What do you want, Harry?” Ginny’s voice had lost its playful tone.

“Someplace to come back to. Someplace where I can belong.”

“The Burrow’s your home now, Harry. You’ll always belong here.”

There seemed to be a huge lump in Harry’s throat and he remembered Hermione’s words.

‘Don’t shut her out, Harry. Don’t go all noble and end up hurting both of you. Don’t make her feel worthless just because you want her to be safe.’

 

“I want someone to come back to.”

“You want me to wait?”

“Yes.”

“What if I don’t want to?

Harry didn’t say anything.

“Well?”

“I can’t make you,” he whispered.

Suddenly, Ginny wrapped her arms around him. “You’re so broken, Harry,” she whispered. “Despite everything Ron, Hermione, Mum, Dad, and I have done. You’re still broken.”

“I can’t be whole, Ginny, not until he’s dead.”

Ginny squeezed him tighter and then sat back. She didn’t bother to hide the tears in her eyes.

“Just come back, Harry. Whole or broken, I want you back.”

*

Hermione lay on the grass, her hair spayed around her head, her face was flushed, and she was breathing deeply.

“Hello, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said as he sat down beside her.

“Hello, Harry,” she grinned. “Enjoying your birthday?”

Harry glanced around. There was only family present, but like air, the Weasleys tended to expand to fill up any given space. “Very much,” he said. “It feels like a real family birthday.”

Hermione reached out and grabbed Harry’s hand. “It is, Harry. You’ve got to believe that.”

“I spoke to Ginny,” Harry broke out as he stared up into the sky, “About us.”

Hermione rolled onto her side. “Did you make it alright, Harry?”

“Yeah, I think it’s going to be.”

At that moment, Crookshanks took the opportunity to jump onto Harry. Harry winced as the large Ginger Tom established his position with his claws.

Hermione reached out for her pet. “Where have you been you naughty cat?” Crookshanks snaked out of her grasp and rubbed his head under Harry’s chin. “He’s all over you today.”

“I think he’s jealous,” Harry said, “of Ron.”

Hermione grinned. “Jealous like Ron, you mean?”

Harry scratched the cat behind the ears, earning a purr. “You know what redheads are like.”

“Stubborn,” said Hermione as Crookshanks avoided her again.

“Loving,” said Harry as the cat rubbed himself against his chest.

“Loyal,” said Hermione as Crookshanks finally allowed her to tickle his tummy.

“Painful,” Harry said as the cat hopped onto Hermione; as she lay on her side, he settled in the curve above her hip, looking at something across the yard.

“Terribly jealous,” said Hermione as she followed her pet’s gaze and found Ron. “You’ve got to wonder, Harry, how the world is from his perspective. What secrets does he know? What tales could he tell?”

“What would we see from a cat’s eye view?” She sighed. “I guess we’ll never know.”

*Harry snorted and hastily masked it with a cough as Ron began to walk toward them. He stared at the Ginger Tom nestled in the Hermione’s feminine curve. “Probably better that way,” he said. Crookshanks turned and met his eyes.

“Much, much better that way.”

Fin.

***

*Alternative Ending:

Harry lay back on the grass, closing his eyes. "There

are some things 'Mione, that I just don't want to know."


	20. Bad Hair Day

Midnight Confessions – Chapter 13 – Bad Hair Day.

By alloy

Quidditch! To be frank, Hermione hated the game… but she loved the players. Well the Gryffindor players and one in particular. But the violence of game itself, and the injuries that seemed to result, had left her with less than pleasant feelings toward it. Still it had its uses and one of those uses was to get Ron out of her hair.

“Ginny, please, you’ve got to take them out for a game.”

“Let me get this straight? You want me to take my idiot brother and his handsome friend outside to play Quidditch?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

Hermione sighed. All the Weasleys, her husband included, were suspicious by nature, but prolonged exposure to the twins had left Ginny particularly attuned to deception. “Well, you know we’re traveling by Muggle car. The Mini my dad’s given me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, your idiot brother and his idiot friend have packed themselves a trunk each to travel with.”

“So?”

“It’s a Mini, Gin! It’s defined in the dictionary as a small car of British origin. Those trunks simply won’t fit.”

“Can’t you just charm the boot, like Dad did to the Anglia?”

“No, I can’t. My dad’s forbidden me to do any magic to the car, whatsoever.”

“Why ever not?”

Hermione didn’t say anything.

“Hermione, are you blushing?”

“I was conceived in that car, Ginny. That’s why my Dad’s kept it all these years.”

Ginny giggled. “Your mum and dad, in the car?”

“In the back seat.”

“Does Ron know?”

“Yes, my dad told him.”

“And he still wants to travel in it.”

Hermione fixed her sister-in-law with a stare. “Gin, he wants to do lots of things in it.”

It was Ginny’s turn to blush.

“So you see, Ginny, I need to repack both these trunks into smaller bags.”

“That means you’ll have to go through all their underwear and stuff.” Ginny shuddered theatrically. “Eww!”

“Gin, I’m married to Ron. Your mum packs your dad’s underwear and stuff doesn’t she?”

“I suppose, but you’re not married to Harry and you’re going to go through his stuff.”

“You’re right, Gin. You’re his girlfriend, you should do it.”

The look on Ginny’s face was worth a thousand words as it ran through a whole gambit of emotions. “Quidditch!” she said finally, “A fine day for Quidditch! RON, HARRY…GET YOUR BROOMS. WE’RE PLAYING QUIDDITCH!”

Finally Hermione was alone.

She opened Ron’s trunk and gasped at the contents.

Books. Her books- books she had sadly decided to leave behind, and had stored in the bottom of Ron’s cupboard. Tears rose unbidden to her eyes; he had tried to bring them for her. Only Ron could be so sweetly, so loving, so impractical.

Hermione moved the books aside and dug out Ron’s pitifully small cache of clothes. She transferred the couple of pairs of jeans, tee-shirts and a few jumpers to her soft sports bag. The dreaded underwear had not materialized, so Hermione turned with some trepidation to the ancient chest of drawers.

“Are you looking for these, dear?” Molly Weasley was in the doorway holding a pile of freshly washed boxers and socks. “He always forgets to pack them.” She handed them to Hermione. “I also have a pile for Harry and something for you. I’ll be right back.”

 

Hermione busied herself with packing Harry’s clothes into a second soft bag, when Molly returned with a pile of Harry’s laundry. She had a soft parcel under her arm gaudily wrapped in Christmas paper. “This is for you, dear.”

“What is it?”

“Your Christmas present,” Molly shrugged. “You and Ron weren’t talking at the time, so I put it aside.”

Hermione neatly undid the wrapping and pulled out the jumper. It was light brown, with a neat ‘HG’ emblazoned in red on the on the right breast. “Oh! Mrs. Weasley, it’s lovely.”

“I tried to match your hair colour, dear.” Molly idly fingered Hermione’s locks, “Ron so loves it.”

“Mrs. Weasley…”

“Mum, dear, or Molly if you prefer.”

“Mum,” Hermione blushed. “If you don’t mind me asking… why have you never given me one before?”

“You have such lovely things, dear. I didn’t think you would want one of my tatty homemade jumpers. If Ginny hadn’t told me about you borrowing one of Ron’s old jumpers, I would never have made this one.”

“I stole it. It was too small for Ron anyway.”

Molly patted her cheek. “It’s our girls’ secret,” she said, pulling Hermione into a hug. “You’ll look after my boys, won’t you?”

“Of course, Mum.”

“Good, good.” Molly wiped the tear from her eye. “I’ll just leave you to it then.”

There wasn’t that much to do really. Hermione tried on the jumper. It fit perfectly; it was cozy and warm, somehow softer than Ron’s old one. Then she packed it carefully away.

Harry’s laundry went into his bag and Ron’s underwear were added to the compartment of the bag holding hers. She looked into the bag for a moment. Somehow she had placed his maroon boxers between her panties and her bras, and that just seemed right.

Hermione checked Ron and Harry’s trunks one last time and finally decided to check her own.

It was essentially empty- a few worn out quills, an empty ball point pen, some ratty pieces of parchment and there, lurking in the corner unopened, the twins’ day dream spell.

Hermione picked it up. She had all but forgotten about it; it was clever magic, but even in the darkest moments of the last year she had not felt the need to resort to a daydream. Hermione glanced out the window. Her husband was still gallantly defending the hoops from all corners; they would be a while yet.

Daringly she undid the wrapper and as she did so a little note fell out. It read:

_Dear Mrs. Weasley,_

 

Our ‘Day Dreams’ have a shelf life of one year. We honestly didn’t think that anybody could resist our wonderful products for such a long period of time.

 

You, as usual, have proven us wrong.

 

To replace the one that expired, we decided to prepare something special for you in anticipation of our thick headed baby brother courting you.  


We didn’t think he’d have the guts to marry you so quickly. We really do enjoy it when Ickle Ronnikins proves us wrong.

 

We also can’t fault his taste in witches (except in the case of Lavender).

 

We hope you enjoy this little glimpse into your future.

 

With love (honest),

 

Gred & Forge

 

PS: It’s started already.

“Mum! Mum! Did you hear me? James is trying to charm Grandpa Dennis’s car.” To tell the truth, the voice was both familiar and irritating. Hermione looked up.

The girl must have been about ten or eleven. Her chocolate brown eyes were narrow and her lips pursed in exasperation. “My cousin is an idiot!” she said. “Grandpa’s new Volvo has so much muggle electronics that it can barely get up the driveway as it is.”

 

Hermione was having trouble taking in the girl’s hair; it was bushy, so bushy in fact, that it hung like a lampshade around the girls head. And to make matters worse, it was red.

Hermione reached out to run her fingers through it, to try and shape it in some way. Hers had never been this bad, had it? Maybe the colour made it worse?

The girl shook her head free and stamped her feet. “MUM!”

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Janey. Grandpa Arthur’s given him all the charms he used on the Anglia.” The speaker was about thirteen years old, leaning casually against the doorframe. He caused Hermione’s heart to leap in her chest. He was his father’s son, except for the hair. The silly boy had let Granger hair, an evil best tamed by a ‘short back and sides,’ grow too long.

“For goodness sake, ‘A.D.,’ we’re cutting your hair tonight, it looks awful.” Hermione heard herself say.

“You said I could grow it, Mum.”

“I was wrong. You hair is not meant to be long.”

“Aunt Ginny says James can grow his.”

“Aunt Ginny wants James to grow his. Potter hair looks awful when it’s that short.”

“MUM! What are you going to do about James?”

“I’m going to talk to his mother before I hex him. Where is Aunt Ginny?”

“In the kitchen,” A.D. said, “baking Avocado Biscuits.” His face showed his disapproval. “I’m going to tell James you ratted on him, Janey.”

Instead of lurching at the thought of Avocado Biscuits, Hermione’s stomach growled. It was bizarre how a Weasley in her tummy gave her the appetite of one.

Hermione went cautiously down the stairs. Her tummy wasn’t that big yet, but caution was a sensible choice in any building as magical as the Burrow.

Ginny Weasley had just taken out the batch of biscuits. With great care and effort she placed them on the table. She was due any day now, and the frenzied nesting instinct that overcame many mothers-to-be was in full force, despite the bulky bundle in her middle.

“They’re hot,” Ginny said.

“I need to hex your son.”

“Go right ahead, I’ll watch, but biscuits first.” Ginny muttered a spell to cool the baking tray and snatched up a biscuit. “Oh, by the way, your publisher flooed. He says ‘The Boy Who Lived” is going to be bigger than Gilderoy Lockhart’s, ‘Voyages with Vampires’”

“I should hope so. Lockhart was a total fraud, Harry’s the real thing.”

“Hmmm,” Ginny rubbed her tummy. “Don’t I know it.” Both women giggled. Suddenly Ginny’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know what the twins are doing?”

“Fred and George?”

“No, not ‘The’ Twins, your twins.” Ginny gestured to a pair of toddlers wrestling, what looked like a garden gnome through the back door of the kitchen.”

That’s when Hermione fainted.

“Hermione!”

“Hermione!”

“Ron?”

“Are you alright, Luv?”

“Twins,” she said, “gnome.”

“It’s the ruddy day dream prank the twins gave her.”

“Ginny?”

“I’m here too.”

“You made avocado biscuits.”

“That’s disgusting!” she heard Ginny say and Hermione jerked herself awake.

Ron was standing over her wiping her face with a handkerchief. Harry and Ginny stood behind him.

“What was the day dream about?” said Ron.

“The future, our future, that is.”

“Was it good?”

“It was positive. It was a happy future, a very Weasley future.”

Harry chuckled, “Kids?”

“Lots of them,” Hermione nodded, “Something to look forward to. There’s just one bad thing Harry.”

“What’s that?”

“The hair’s going to be far worse than we imagined.”

Fin.

 


	21. Something Wrong, Something Right

Something Wrong. Something Right.  
  
By alloy  
  
“What’s wrong, Hermione?”  
  
It was almost as if he had ambushed her, asking her the question as she returned to their bedroom after her morning ablutions.  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
Ron reached for her hands and pulled her toward him. “It’s not, nothing.”  
  
“Ron, I…”  
  
“Honesty, remember. We promised.” It was worse than badgering.  
  
Hermione looked down at his hands gently holding her own more petite one.  
  
“My period was late.”  
  
“When was it…”  
  
“Yesterday.”  
  
“You’re normally regular.”  
  
“Except for when I was injured in the Department of Mysteries.”  
  
Ron sank down onto the bed, gently drawing her down with him. He didn’t say anything; the gentle tapping of his thumb told her he was thinking.  
  
“Ron, It…”  
  
“We should talk to Mum first. She knows about these things.”  
  
“Would you make me stay behind?”  
  
A muscle in Ron’s jaw twitched. “Let’s just talk to Mum. Okay?”  
  
“Ron it came this morning.” Hermione buried her face in Ron’s shoulder and began to cry. “It was just a little late.”  
  
“Then why are you so sad?”  
  
“I didn’t think it could happen. I was so careful and then…I thought it had happened. I had to think about how we would deal with it.”  
  
Ron gently stroked her hair. “Merlin!” he said. “You’ve been thinking about this all night.”  
  
Hermione nodded into his shoulder and wrapped her arms around him hugging him hard. “It was sort of nice, thinking about a baby. Your baby.”  
  
“Thinking about whether he will have magic.”  
  
Ron’s voice seemed to be breaking. Hermione clung to him tighter.  
  
“Whether Hogwarts would be there for him to go to.”  
  
“Whether you would make me stay behind while you went away with Harry.”  
  
“I would,” Ron said firmly.  
  
“Whether my daughter would ever know her father.”  
  
Hermione looked up through her tears. She could see a small smile in the corner of Ron’s mouth.  
  
“I’d come back to teach him Quidditch.”  
  
“She’s not playing that horrible game.”  
  
Ron slipped his finger under Hermione’s chin pulling it up and lowered his head gently kissing her.  
  
“It’s a bit like playing house, isn’t it?”  
  
Hermione smiled, “Yes.”  
  
“Ginny used to make me play all the time.” Hermione snuggled against him hearing the rumble in his chest as he spoke. “She always wanted me to be someone else.”  
  
“I don’t want you to be anyone else.”  
  
“Always the same person, too.”  
  
Hermione waited. She knew she didn’t have to ask, so she waited and enjoyed the rich chuckle that flowed from his chest.  
  
“She always asked me to be Harry Potter.”  
  
Hermione giggled despite herself. “Have you ever told Harry?”  
  
“A bit weird, don’t you think?” Ron pursed his lips. “Hey mate, my sister wants to play house with you.”  
  
Ron squeezed Hermione. “No pressure, mate. She’s only wanted to since she was five years old.”  
  
Hermione smiled wryly.  
  
“You okay now?”  
  
“Never better.”  
  
“A part of me is sad too, Luv.”  
  
They snuggled into each other and sat there silently together.  
  
“Ron, Hermione! Harry says he’s ready to go…” Ginny’s voice faded away as she saw Hermione’s face. “What have you done, Ron?”  
  
“He hasn’t done anything, Ginny.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
Hermione cupped Ron’s chin in the palm of her hand, “Very sure.”  
  
“Go down and make sure Harry hasn’t forgotten anything.” Hermione reached up and pulled a lock of Ron’s hair drawing him down to her. They shared a brief kiss. “I’ll just…you know?”  
  
Ron nodded and stood, his hand lingering on Hermione’s shoulder. Hermione smiled wanly. Ron picked up the soft canvas bag that contained their clothes and made his way down stairs. Half way down he heard his sister’s voice.  
  
  
“Really, Hermione, what did he do?”  
  
  
Outside in the garden Harry was busy putting his bag into Hermione’s little Mini Cooper S. Three broomsticks leant against the small car. Ron recognized his Cleansweep and Harry’s Firebolt. The third broom was also a Cleansweep, but a model so old that Ron thought that Harry might have taken it out of the Weasley broomshed.  
  
“Did you know Hermione had a broom?” Harry asked.  
  
Ron shook his head. “No. I thought you nicked one from the shed.”  
  
“It was in the car.” Harry handed the broom to Ron. “Looks pretty old.”  
  
“Probably bought it out of her pocket money.”  
  
“I bet she thought you would laugh if she showed it to you,” Harry said.  
  
“Me?” Ron cast a critical eye over the broom. “It looks okay,” he said, anxious to defend his wife.  
  
“Cleanweep’s always been a good solid broom.” Ron swung his leg over the broom and kicked off into the air cautiously, and then with growing confidence he flew around the Burrow, even essaying a broad loop, before landing next to the Mini.  
  
“Not bad,” he said. “Not bad at all. Needs a service desperately, but it’s sound.” He handed the broom back to Harry. “This model sometimes gets a bit dicky in the rain, though.”  
  
Harry’s grin broadened as Ron hastily continued. “Hermione couldn’t have known that.”  
  
Harry performed a shrinking spell on all three brooms and stowed them away in the boot.  
  
“Ready to go, boys.” Inwardly Arthur Weasley rued his words. Neither of them were boys anymore, they were men, on a mission of men.”  
  
  
“Just waiting for Hermione, Dad,” Ron said.  
  
To cover his own disquiet, Arthur turned his attention to the car.  
  
“These are marvelous cars, you know.” He patted the car’s roof extracting a tinny sound. “The muggles have put one in the British Science museum. Chopped it in half somehow, even the engine, so you can see how everything works. Fascinating, absolutely fascinating.” He was babbling now, but better to babble than to weep. It was his wife that came to his rescue. Molly had cried in his arms for most of the night, but now she put on a brave face, giving him the support he needed.  
  
“This car really is bigger inside than out,” Molly said. She caught Arthur’s eye, “Without magic.”  
  
“Dennis used to race them you know? Before he met Sylvia.”  
  
“Mum made him stop.” Hermione had appeared with Ginny in tow. “I don’t think he was any good. Mum says he never won anything.”  
  
“I imagine it must be very exciting,” Arthur said.  
  
“Very dangerous,” his wife replied.  
  
“Ahem,” Ron cleared his throat. “We’d best be on our way.”  
  
He held out his hand to his father who grasped it firmly and pulled him into a hug, kissing him soundly on the cheek. Arthur accepted Harry’s hand next, treating him as he had treated Ron. He then turned to Hermione who held out a box to him. “It’s a mobile phone,” she said. “It doesn’t work here, and it probably won’t work at the Ministry, but if you go into muggle London it’ll work. I’ve got one, too. There are instructions in the box.” Arthur looked down at the gaudily coloured box. The name, ‘Phoenix Technologies,’ came out to meet his eyes. “My dad says it’s his contribution to the war effort.”  
  
Arthur carefully placed the box on the ground at his feet and drew the young witch into a hug. “Look after my sons,” he said. Hermione nodded.  
  
Ginny gave Harry a long kiss goodbye. There was an air of promise and hope in her actions, and Arthur decided to turn a blind eye to the hand which squeezed his daughter’s bum…For now, anyway.  
  
The three of them- Arthur, Molly and Ginny- stood in silence for the longest time after the small red car had disappeared down the road to the village. Eventually, Molly broke down, and turned and fled to the house. Arthur followed, pausing at the doorway: there was still something that needed to done.  
  
Arthur’s hands found the Burrow’s foundation stone. It was one of the very first stones shaped by the first Weasleys to occupy this land. Those ancient stone masons had barely been aware of their magic, but their strong desire to protect their families had shaped the stone as much as their chisels.  
  
Arthur concentrated, willing the ancient wards into existence. It was no use, his motivation, his will, his magic seemed to have deserted him.  
  
A hand appeared on his, a small hand, a vibrant strength building the wards, helping him find his own strength. Arthur turned to his beautiful daughter, the tears running freely down her face.  
  
“He calls this place home, Dad. They all do. We’ll be here when they get back.”  
  
The End.  
  
Authors note:  
1\. This is the final chapter. It is done.  
  
2\. I’d like to thank my Beta’s ScarlettB and Sandy. Especially Sandy, as she made huge contributions and even commissioned a chapter.  
  
3\. Big THANKYOU to all my readers and reviewers. This story has been extraordinarily successful in that regard and made me spoiled and conceited.  
  
4\. There is an outtake, Chapter 11.5 Wrong Side of The Bed. Which can be found where naughty fics are found.  
  
5\. There is also a French Translation of this story.  
  
6\. I’ve no plans to write about the Horcrux quest, it’s not really a subject that interests me, so I’ll leave that to Jo. I may do some outtakes from it though, just a few ideas rummaging through my head about that.  
  
7\. One story I plan to revisit is Chris and Charlie….At this point the story has a title: “Common Weasley.” So hopefully I’ll get down to that.  
  
8\. What the shameless Plugs thread for any further developments, and feel free to visit my Live journal, links can be found on my profile page.  
  
9\. To the best of my knowledge there is a chopped in half Mini in the British science museum.  
  
10\. We are of course talking about the original Mini, not the over bloated new one.  
  
Beta’s Notes (you have to say something, it’s the last chapter):  
  
Thank you to alloy for giving me the chance to work with him, and to give this novice the opportunity to beta this wonderful story. Thank you, Marc, for trusting my skills, opinions and contributions and allowing them into your story. We worked well together from the start, and I will never forget this experience.  
  
Thank you to the readers for following Midnight Confessions with me, as I was just as much of a fan as I was its beta. And for being soo kind as to putting up with updating delays and any and all mistakes I may or may not have caught. My best intentions for a perfect read are always there, but mistakes do happen to the best of us, so thank you!  
  
Its been a great ride, one of which I am very proud to have been a part of, and I am just as sad as the readers to see it end. But knowing alloy, he will come back with other great stories to follow and I hope to be as lucky to be a part of those as well. Just make sure to look for his work (plug, plug, wink, wink).  
  
Smiles,  
  
Sandy ;]


	22. The Way Home

The Way home.

By alloy.

Harry Potter watched the Burrow dwindle away through the back window of the car. He continued to watch long after Ginny Weasley and her parents, now his parents, had disappeared.

“Harry, will you please sit down properly.” Harry had learned long ago to zone Hermione’s voice out.

The little car jerked to a sudden halt. “Harry, I can’t drive if you’re filling up the whole of the back window.”

“Alright, Mum,” he said, “Alright.”

He expected a snort of irritation from Hermione; instead he got a glare from Ron who shook his head ominously.

Harry wondered if his best friends had had a fight. Not a bicker; Harry had finally realised that Ron and Hermione’s bickering was merely their way of communicating. It wasn’t unique to them either. Most mornings the Weasley breakfast table seemed to be like a war zone.

The morning after Bill and Fleur’s wedding had especially been an eye opener.

The entire family had gathered behind closed wards- Arthur and Molly, Bill and Fleur, Charlie and Chris, who had Apparated effortlessly through the magical barrier, Fred and Angelina, Ron and Hermione, George, Harry and Ginny.

The bickering had started from the moment the first person had sat down. Arguments had ranged from disputes over the salt and pepper shakers, to discussions on breakfast table etiquette, to the latest Quidditch results.

Instead of curbing her wayward brood, Molly Weasley seemed to revel in it. “We’re all family now, Harry,” she had said. “No need for airs and graces.”

This was different, though; like Ron and Hermione were fighting, or had been fighting, and now they were in the ‘not talking’ stage. Harry sighed. That stage could last for months.

Then Ron reached across and gently rested his hand on Hermione’s thigh. Harry expected Hermione to tell him to take it away, or to shove it away with her own hand, instead she did nothing. A few moments later she took her left hand off the steering wheel to change gears. Instead of returning it, she placed it over Ron’s hand before she had to lift it to change gears again.

They were driving through the village when Hermione suddenly slowed and parked the car outside the grocery store. “I just need to get something in here,” she said as she climbed out of the car. Harry pushed the seat forward and climbed out after her even as Ron climbed out his door.

“I don’t need an escort, boys.”

“Luv?” Ron said.

“I’ll be okay, Ron.”

Harry watched as Hermione made her way into the store. He turned and found Ron staring at him.

“Why are you looking at her like that, mate?”

“Like what?” Harry said.

“Like she’s a girl,” Ron gestured in the direction of the store. “You’ve never looked at Hermione like she was a girl. You’ve always looked at her like – like I look at Gin. Then yesterday…” Ron let his voice trail off.

“She’s changed,” Harry said. “She’s sexy.”

“She’s also married, mate.”

“I know. I know. Ginny says she’s being sexy for you, because you’re married now and she knows you love her for her and not for her…um…tits or something.” Harry met Ron’s eye. “I’m just not used to it, that’s all.”

“It’s okay to think my wife’s sexy, Harry. I think she’s bloody sexy, too.” Ron turned back toward store scanning the exit for signs of Hermione. “If it makes you feel any better, mate, she thinks you have the second best bum in Hogwarts.”

“Only the second.”

“Sorry, you’re not in my league, mate.”

“It would also make me feel better if you stopped looking at her like that.”

Harry nodded.

It was the old Ron for a moment, struggling to break through, but there was still something else.

“Are you fighting, Ron?”

“What? No!”

“But something’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Harry, that’s sort of the problem.”

“I don’t understand.”

“She thought she was pregnant.”

“But she’s not?”

“No, mate,” Ron sighed, “she’s not.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“If she was, Harry, I would have made her stay behind.”

“That would make sense.”

“That was the first thing I thought, Harry, that I could make her stay behind, that I could make her safe.” Ron looked away. “That was such a shite thing to think, Harry.”

“No, it’s not,” Harry said. “It’s natural. You’ve always been very protective of Hermione.”

“Ah well,” said Ron. “I told her, so she knows; she knows what a bastard she married.”

“She’s not cross with you, Ron, I know that much.”

“Nah, she’s sad.”

“Sad.”

“She’s one day late, Harry, one day, and you know how she is. She’s already planning for it. Thinking about sending it off to Hogwarts, about not allowing ‘Her’ to play Quidditch, when we both know that ‘He’s’ going to be Captain of the team one day.”

“Sounds like you did a little planning yourself.”

“I guess we’re both a little sad.”

Ron turned toward Harry. “You know what it does to you, Harry, when your girl says she wants to have your kid?”

Harry chuckled. “She shouted it out to the whole family during the battle, Ron.”

Ron shook his head. “That was just fighting talk, Harry. You know, to spur me on. This morning was different. This morning it could have been.” Ron leant across the car roof lowering his voice to a whisper. “You know what sort of a hard on that gives you, Harry?” Ron leant back, his voice returning to normal. “I reckon it’s going to happen, when we’ve finished with this lot. When that bastard’s gone and the world’s safe again. We’ll go home and raise some kids, send them off to Hogwarts.”

“I think so too, Ron.” So engrossed had they been in their conversation, neither of them had noticed Hermione returning.

She held the car do open for Harry. “Get in, Potter, you’ve got work to do.”

On impulse Harry cupped Hermione’s face in his hand and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m going to try and make that happen,” he said as he climbed into the car to avoid Ron’s eyes.

Hermione was blushing somewhat when she climbed into the car. Ron leant over from the passenger seat and gently pulled her toward him. Harry closed his eyes as Ron drew the kiss out.

“Oi, Mate! I’m trapped back here, you know?”

They broke away gently, tenderly. Hermione’s blush seemed to have become a flush. As they drove out of the village, Harry noticed that her driving wasn’t as smooth as before, and when Ron reach over and gently placed his hand over the back of her neck, she missed a gear.

Harry draped himself over the backseat of the car. He closed his eyes to see Ginny Weasley. Not the little girl he had saved from Tom Riddle, but the young woman who had told him on his birthday that she would wait for him, that she wanted him to return. Harry felt his body respond to the thought. ‘When we come back,’ Harry thought as he shifted to make himself more comfortable. ‘It won’t be kisses and cuddles in the tree house. When we come back, I’ll talk to her Dad and Ron can show me where he got Hermione’s rings and…’

Ron Weasley looked over his shoulder. His best friend, glasses slightly askew, was sleeping peacefully in the back of the small jostling car. “Don’t forget the way back,” he said gesturing with his thumb. “He left something important behind.”

“I think we all did.”

To be continued…..  



	23. Two Man Tent.

 

**Two Man Tent**  
By alloy  
  
 _(Dedicated to my angels, they know who they are)_  
  
When you’re a little girl and you like a boy and want his attention and it’s so unfair because boys don’t have ponytails, at least not the boys you like, and the boys you like don’t pull your ponytail, instead they puke slugs for you, and you really, really wish they would grow up a little so telling them how you feel wouldn’t be so awkward and when they do it’s wonderful, but you wish sometimes you could have your little boy back, just for a moment.  
  
Hermione drew a mental breath.  
  
 _They were such -- such boys!_   
  
It wasn’t a fair statement Hermione knew; for all their faults Ron and Harry defined the word ‘man’ for her better than any of the male species, but sometimes they were just boys!  
  
It had never occurred to her that Harry had never been into a large department store before. The revelation was just a minor footnote on the list of things that Hermione, one day, had planned to address with Vernon and Petunia Dursley about their abuse of their nephew, but Hermione had to deal with the consequences now. Instead of merely shepherding Ron through the huge Muggle store she had had to chase both boys who took off like kids in a candy store.  
  
‘Worse,’ she thought, ‘They were never this bad in the candy store.” Hermione grinned to herself and set after them.  
  
They had lingered in the toy section; Ron unconsciously doing a credible imitation of his father as he became enthralled with toddler toys which beeped and whistled and even spoke to him.  
  
“Remarkable,” he muttered, “Amazing.”   
  
_Hmmm, Ron really would look quite dashing with a ponytail. His vibrant red hair swaying, just waiting to be yanked into---_  
  
“All with batteries just like Dad said,.” Ron exclaimed.  
  
“Did you see that, Hermione?” he asked of doll that seemed to possess all the bodily functions of a normal child.  
  
“I have one,” she replied in exasperation, grabbing his wrist and ignoring Harry’s grin as she dragged Ron firmly into the camping department.   
  
“Wicked!”  
  
 _‘Could be so useful’ She thought ._   
  
Ron and Harry set about again there, opening, unfolding and practically taking apart anything that took their fancy. Hermione tutted to herself and began examining the real purpose for this excursion, a tent.  
  
She measured the models on display, considered them against her list of requirements, and finally made her decision. She pulled the box from the shelf and made her way to the counter.  
  
A young woman, much the same age as Hermione sat behind counter. She must have been a schoolgirl, as she seemed to be doing summer homework, which she put away as Hermione approached.  
  
“A two man tent,” said the girl whose nametag revealed her to be ‘Hannah.’  
  
Hermione nodded.  
  
“Have you chosen your two men yet?”  
  
It took Hermione a moment to realize that Hannah was joking, but the girl didn’t seem to notice.  
  
“My mum always chooses George Clooney and Alan Rickman; says you have to choose at least one local lad.”  
  
Hermione nodded. She was vaguely aware that the men that Hannah referred to were actors, but not much more than that.  
  
“Rickman plays a great villain, he does. I reckon that’s what mum likes. Gran fancies Sean Connery.” Hannah screwed up her face. “He’s a bit old for us of course, but the voice.” Hannah flopped back into her chair dramatically and fanned herself with her hand.  
  
Hermione nodded enthusiastically, her dad had a full collection of the James Bond series and she had enjoyed them tremendously.  
  
“Who do you fancy, then?” Hannah asked.  
  
“I don’t really know.”  
  
“Well you can choose anyone, anyone except Rupert of course. He’s mine.”  
  
Hermione shook her head. The only Rupert she knew was a very tired teddy that her mum had bequeathed her. There was still a battered old vinyl record of Rupert the Bear’s adventures in the cupboard underneath the telly in the lounge.  
  
“I can’t believe you’ve never heard of Rupert?” Hannah reached under the counter and pulled out a lever-arch file. It was covered in magazine and newspaper cut outs of various people. Hannah pointed to a picture which seemed to hold pride of place in the front.”  
  
“Rupert Grint, star of the ‘Young Merlin’ movies, he’s gorgeous.”  
  
Hermione couldn’t deny that the young man was good looking, his hair was long and shaggy, the right shade of red, and his grin was relaxed, casual, just like Ron’s, but for her he just seemed to lack something. “Not enough freckles,” she said.  
  
Hannah looked at her in amazement. “He’s perfect,” she said.  
  
Hermione shrugged and Hannah addressed the picture. “ _Rupert, you sexy beast, you!_ ” she said hugging the file to her chest.  
  
Then Hermione noticed Ron and Harry chuckling and shaking their heads at the girl’s behaviour. “I’ve chosen,” she said quickly.  
  
“Who then?” said Hannah. “Not Rupert!”  
  
Hermione pointed to Ron. “You!” she said loudly.  
  
“Me?” Ron replied.  
  
“Yes, you. I need a kiss.”  
  
Harry followed Ron across the room. “I’ll keep the other one to pay the bills,” Hermione said just before Ron's lips crashed down on hers, driving rational thought from her mind.  
  
*  
  
 _Hannah looked on in amazement as the tall Red-head crossed the room at her customer’s request._   
  
The kiss was scorching, though the manner in which the young man held the girl was so completely different from Hannah’s own encounters. His hands didn’t roam, they didn’t grope, they merely held; reverently, protectively, as if the boy was trying to place his own lanky frame between a hurtful world and his most precious possession.   
  
Looking at them Hannah felt an ache, a longing to be held like that.  
  
“Jealous?” said the dark-haired boy. “I am,” he said, “Not of him, you understand, but of what they have.”   
  
There was a wistful sighing in the boy’s voice, a longing.  
  
Hannah glanced back at the couple. They had stopped kissing; the girl was whispering something in the boy’s ear causing him to smile and let forth a warm chuckle.  
  
 _“We all deserve to have love like that.”_  
  
To be continued…  
  
  
Authors Note:  
  
An explanation:   
  
It was never my intention to write about the Horcrux hunt, reason being that I was more interested in the primary romance of the series than the mechanics of killing Voldemort. When I had finished writing chapter 21 of this story, I had a few more ideas, but nothing concrete. I wrote a bit more about the Weasleys, their history, and about Hermione’s relationship to the family. About three chapters, but nothing worth making a fic out of.  
  
Then DH happened and blew MC out of the water canon wise. It had happened before. HBP had rendered Smell of Lavender AU as well. In a way, it’s liberating.  
  
So I asked my livejournal friends if they wanted to read the bits and bobs and they said, “yes.” So there you have it- 3 extra chapters, plus one that’s been gifted to me, and chapter 25 in my head busting to get out.  
  
Let’s see how far the rabbit hole goes.


	24. Ginger Whorls

  
Author's notes: Tales of times past from the beginning.  


* * *

**Midnight Confessions - Chapter 24**

**Ginger Whorls – Tales of Times Past**

 

**The Dawn of Time.**

Peace had returned to Worzel’s clan.

The men no longer postured trying to attract her attention and the clan’s woman were now happy.

Worzel still didn’t understand where she had come from.

It was clearly a very different place. Her skins were soft, in strange colours and textures that had never been seen on any animal Worzel had hunted.

She had been looking for a stone, not just any stone, but a special one, both black and shiny at the same time.

She said destroying it would save many lives.

She had saved their lives, fighting along side them against the Adder clan, bringing fire to the cave in the darkest winter. That had been followed with a successful hunt because she had told them where to go.

The elders had labeled her goddess, and that was really when the troubled had started.

Didn’t all men want to mate a goddess?

“I already have a mate,” she had said and showed him the shiny ring on her finger with its sky coloured stone.

“It’s gold,” she had sighed. “It’s from tomorrow, too.”

For some reason she trusted Worzel, confided in him, and it was he who held her uncomfortably as she had cried herself to sleep.

Now she was gone, to the land of the future back to her mate.

The cave was cold.

Worzel cupped his hands around the kindling, trying to remember what she had taught him, trying to empty is mind to focus on the impossible.

“You really need to concentrate. You can do anything you like if you only try.”

He had to, it had snowed again and lives once again depended on the clan having fire.

“En,” he grunted, “Cendo.”

A flame appeared and quickly died.

Worzel frowned, his copper eyebrows becoming momentarily a monobrow.

_“En-CENDO.”_

This time the flame held. Worzel shouted a summons and the rest of the clan rushed forward to borrow from his fire.

The female Beka came to sauntering seductively to Worzel’s hearth; her long, ginger hair seemingly alive in the firelight, almost Worzel thought as if it showed the real Beka.

“Trouble,” Worzel grunted to himself.

Beka had the same spirit as their mysterious visitor.

She too had a magic of her own. In the twilight, her brown eyes flashed just a hint of the sky, just a hint of the future.

**A Thousand Years Ago.**

There were seven. Seven highly venomous snakes bound to Salazar Slytherin by thin ribbons of magic. It was an illusion that Salazar devoted much effort to maintaining, that the snakes were independent agents bound to him by fealty rather than merely puppets on a string.

Still the illusion was meaningless to Godric Gryffindor, possessed of his own unique talent to see the magic within.

To see both- the brightness and darkness.

Godric rested his hand on his sword. It had been a gift, a gesture of true fealty from a man he come to regard as a son. The blacksmith stood next to him, wary of Slytherin, readying his own unique magic.

Godric knew that Salazar did not approve of his apprentice. A blacksmith, son of stonemasons who had only recently learned wand magic at Godric’s hand. His birth was far too lowly for Salazar to ever consider him an equal. To make matters worse he held no fear of the Serpent Master.

Salazar spoke. “So I think you will agree, Godric, a union of our families would consolidate our power and ensure that our legacy--” He gestured to the stone walls around them “—Hogwarts, is secured for all time.”

“Of course you know that I have every means to make your daughter comfortable.”

Godric winced at the flare of magic next to him, the anger flowing through his apprentice.

“Yes, of course,” Godric said. “You have considerable means at your disposal.”

“Then we are agreed?”

“No,” Godric shrugged. “Helen does not favour you as a suitor.”

Salazar directed an icy stare at Godric’s apprentice.

“You should not allow your daughter’s infatuations to guide her into marrying below her station.”

His apprentice’s anger was almost a glowing tangible thing. Salazar was seeking this, seeking an excuse. Godric needed to end this now.

“I do not favour you as a suitor, Salazar.”

The Serpent Master’s attention snapped back to Godric. His cool demeanour, his veneer of civility sloughed away. “You condemn your heirs to groveling poverty.”  
  
“I am not without means, Salazar. My daughter will have a dowry.”

“How long will that last?”

“Go,” the apprentice’s voice was soft and laced with menace.

“I’m speaking to your master boy.”

“He has nothing more to say to you. Go back to your dungeons.”

“Curb your apprentice, Godric, he is not yet your heir.”

“Perhaps, Salazar, but his words are true. We have nothing more to talk about.”

“Fine.”

Salazar Sytherin disapparated with a deafening crack, and Godric found his inner eye blinded as his apprentice exerted his magic sealing the tower behind impenetrable shimmering wards.

“I’m not marrying her for the dowry. I’ll not take it.”

“It’s mine to give.”

“I don’t need your charity.”

Godric laid a hand on his apprentice’s shoulder. “You are my heir, Robert. It’s yours by right.”

“It’s Helen’s.”

“And would you not give Helen all you have?”

“Of course.”

“As will she for you.”

Godric slumped back into his chair. “Go now Robert Weasley. Go to the ingenious ‘Room of Requirement’ that you had your Uncle construct. My daughter awaits you I’m sure.”

Godric smiled at the look on Robert’s face. “Release me before you go, Robert. It’s intolerable that I be trapped in my own tower.”

“No,” replied the smith. “That’s what the sword is for.”

**Sixty Years Ago.**

Albus Dumbledore strode through Hogwarts Castle, scenes of a battle, of devastation, were everywhere. Portrait characters huddled like refugees on the few whole canvasses remaining, all shouting for attention and restoration. That would have to wait.

Dumbledore came upon the Great Hall. Waving his wand he opened the giant barred doors, finding behind them a wall of amber magical energy. A barrier, impenetrable, so long as those making it had the will to hold it. Dumbledore smiled.

Weasleys were notoriously stubborn creatures.

Dumbledore reached into his robes and withdrew the sword, holding it in front of him; he stepped through the impenetrable barrier, what he found would inspire him for the rest of his life.

The headmaster would never walk again. Dumbledore saw this immediately on the grim face of Maple Prewitt, the school nurse. Some injuries could, even with the use of magic, never be repaired and Headmaster Weasley’s legs were such an injury.

“I almost had him, Albus, almost, until the bastard attacked the children.” Dumbledore could easily imagine what might have happened. The headmaster’s primary concern had always been the children in his charge; his legs would have been a small price to pay for their wellbeing. A price that he would not have had to pay had Dumbledore overcome his own demons.

The headmaster gestured Dumbledore closer. “You’ll have to take him, Albus.” He nodded toward his deputy headmaster. “I won’t let Armando go, he hasn’t the strength.” Albus nodded. Armando Dippet was a brave enough man and a brilliant administrator, but the headmaster had confirmed Dumbledore’s own opinion that he was, at best, a competent wizard.

“I need Dippet here,” The headmaster said loudly, “To look after the children.”

“Can you maintain the wards, Headmaster?” Dumbledore asked voicing his primary concern.

“I’ll take them over when the time comes, Albus. Right now the ‘apostles’ are doing it.” The headmaster lowered his voice further. “They’ll do it until they’re too tired to get into trouble.”

Dumbledore looked further into the hall and found the quartet of Redheads currently maintaining the amber wards around the Great Hall. As four of only five pupils capable of passing through the wards it made sense to have them maintain it instead.

Mathew and Mark, first year twins, sat on the Gryffindor benches, their heads lowered almost as if in prayer. Their sister, Sandra, a petite blonde, third year, shielding them from the sight of their great-grandfather’s injuries. The third ‘apostle,’ Luke Weasley, had adopted a lotus position on the floor. His sky blue eyes attentively following the interaction between Dumbledore and his great-uncle.

The fourth was John, a lanky seventh year; he was prowling the great hall like a young lion, wand in hand.

Dumbledore waited a moment and then with three long strides intercepted the young wizard.

“I’m counting on you, John,” he said. “There’s no telling how serious your grandfather’s injuries are. I need you to maintain the wards.”

“Weasley’s don’t let these things go unanswered,” said the young man gripping his wand tightly.

“Neither do Gryffindors,” said Dumbledore. “And I’m the head of Gryffindor house.”

John’s eyes shot to his cousin. “Luke can hold the wards.”

“He’s a boy,” Dumbledore said holding up his hand. “He’s brave and a Gryffindor, and one day soon he’ll be called upon to do a man’s job. Today I’m calling on you to do that job.”

“Alright! But if…”

“No ‘buts’, we are all called to do what needs to be done.”

The boy held his tongue and nodded.

“I care not a whit that you’re unhappy about it, John, but that’s the way it is.” Then Dumbledore returned to the headmaster. “It would greatly disappoint me if you died, Headmaster.”

“Hah!” The headmaster snorted. “I’ll outlive you yet, Albus, you mark my words.” He struggled to adjust his sitting position. “You wouldn’t have some confectionery about your person would you? For medicinal purposes.”

Dumbledore grinned and extracted a box of smarties from his robes. He handed it to Maple Prewitt. “Be careful not to overdose him,” he said.

The headmaster chuckled. “You’re a cruel man, Albus Dumbledore, a cruel man.” Then his voice hardened. “Now go out there and thrash that bastard.”

Albus Dumbledore raised the Sword of Godric Gryffindor in salute to Headmaster Hugh Weasley, then he spun on his heels and holding the sword before him walked through the wards to reluctantly face the wizard Grindelwald.

 

**Seventeen Years Ago.**

The tall man’s beard was grey, but he walked with firm confident strides. Those strides propelled not only him, but also his companion whose atrophied legs dangling from his wheel chair attesting that he too was once a tall man.

“You’re lost. Albus.”

“Nonsense, I remember quite clearly. The maternity ward is along this corridor.”

“Perhaps we should ask?” The arm that reached out to attract a nurse’s attention was in stark contrast to his legs, it was firm and strong, hosting a multitude of freckles.

“Maternity,” said the nurse in answer to his query. “They moved it ten years ago. Just follow the green arrows.”

“I wasn’t lost, Hugh,” said Albus as he swung the wheel chair vigorously around, almost knocking over a gangly red-haired man who had a large brown teddy bear under one arm. “How was I to know they moved it?”

The man stepped back sharply. “The green arrow did she say?”

“For maternity, yes,” said Hugh.

“Might as well go together, then.” He fell in companionably next to them.

“Niece or nephew?” asked Albus indicating the bear.

“God-daughter,” the man said beaming. He lowered his voice. “Something of a miracle child, very unexpected.”

“Unwanted?” asked Hugh

“Oh no. Very much wanted, very much.”

Both Hugh and Albus nodded in approval even as the sign for maternity ward came into view.

“I think,” said their companion. “I shall sneak a peak at her before I visit her mum.”

There was a viewing window into the nursery, a nurse waited patiently ready to show the newborns.

“Baby Granger,” said the man, then he turned back to them. “Oh, I’m sorry that was very rude of me.”

“Oh think nothing of it,” said Albus. He chuckled. “At our age we’re not particular about what babies we look at.”

The nurse wheeled a crib closer to the window, and all three men leant forward eagerly.

The small baby remained asleep even as the nurse held her up. Her most distinguishing feature her pitch black hair.

“Yes,” hissed Hugh. “Yes.”

“Let me see,” said Albus.

“Why?” chuckled Hugh. “Is your name Thomas?”

“Hugh!”

“Alright, alright,” Hugh reached under the blanket on his lap, and muttered something. Albus suddenly stiffened.

“It’s so bright,” he whispered. “All of them, all the Muggles.”

“There’s a lot of love in a maternity ward, Albus. Close you eyes, it helps you orientate.”

Albus obeyed his companion, centering himself before his whispered again. “Are all wizards as bright as you, Hugh?”

“I’ve never seen myself,” said Hugh. “Though you’re the brightest I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re burning copper.”

“I’m a Weasley. That’s our magic.”

Albus turned toward the child still in the nurse’s arms. “She’s as bright as you are.”

“And you.” Then Hugh reached under his blanket again.

Albus murmured in disappointment. “There’s another,” he said, “In the corner. Not as bright.”

“Still strong,” Hugh said.

“Which child would you gentlemen like to see?” The nurse asked.

Albus caught her eye, holding it for a moment. “Brocklehurst,” he said finally, “In the corner.”

_Then he addressed Hugh. “Poor Muggles, do they even suspect they have a witch in the family.”_

**Sixteen years ago.**

Lily Potter's life flashed through her mind as she looked at the wand.

She never remembered thinking herself special, though there were certainly people who did. Not the least the man lying so still in the living room.

But Petunia was the first.

The first thing Lily could remember was Petunia hating her. Lily’s older sister had sensed something, perhaps in some primeval way that Lily was different.  
That may have explained Petunia’s spiteful behaviour toward Lily. Had she felt inferior at such an early age? Unloved? When Lily was three years old she had, had enough.

Enough of the pushing, the scratching, the biting, just enough. Petunia’s hair had all fallen out. It had grown back of course, but no longer did Petunia share their father’s copper locks, or even their mother’s blonde mane. Petunia’s hair would forever thereafter remain stubbornly black, resistant to bleaching and colourants.

There wasn’t much Lily remembered from the ensuring years. Petunia continued to hate her, but Lily’s father Marshall had provided a stable anchor in her life, while her mother Rose struggled to keep the peace.

As she had grown older, as both she and Petunia had attended school, Lily tried to reach out to her sibling, but in every instance she had been rebuffed.

Then it arrived, a letter addressed to Lily Evans, the Emerald Cavern, 47, 8th Avenue, Rover On Thyme.

The Emerald Cavern was the name Marshall Evans had given his daughter after a particularly expensive bout of redecorating had left her room in a symphony of green hues.

“We have a witch in the family,” Marshall Evans had murmured after the Ministry liaison official had departed.

How was he to know that it would become Petunia’s mantra?

_“Mudblood.” A hissing reptilian sound. “What do those muggles say when they discover a cuckoo in their midst?”_

Lily forced herself to concentrate. Harry had only one chance.

_“A witch in the family. Oh how frightened they must be.”_

This magic didn’t even require the wand that lay shattered at the monster’s feet.

_“I do so wonder what Severus sees in you?”_

Lily forced her magic to flow into her son.

_“Pretty Red hair.”_

With James dead only one thing mattered now.

_“I’ll just imagine you’re a blood traitor, Weasley, shall I?”_

Lily knew just enough about the Weasley clan to know there was no shame in that.

_“Avada Kedavra”_

It was done.

Fin.

 


	25. Look at You That Way

“Look at You That Way”

“ **Look at You That Way”**

**Chapter 24**

by **Alloy** and **Leviathan**

They were driving through the village when Hermione suddenly slowed and parked the car outside the grocery store. “I just need to get something in here,” she said as she climbed out of the car. Harry pushed the seat forward and climbed out after her even as Ron climbed out his door.

“I don’t need an escort, boys.”

“Luv?” Ron said.

“I’ll be okay, Ron.”

Harry watched as Hermione made her way into the store.  He turned and found Ron staring at him.

“Why you looking at her like that, mate?”

“Like what?” Harry said.

“Like, she’s a girl.”  Ron gestured in the direction of the store. “You’ve never looked at Hermione like she was a girl. You’ve always looked at her like – like I look at Gin. Then yesterday…” Ron let his voice trail off.

“She’s changed,” Harry said. “She’s sexy.”

“She’s also married, mate.”

“I know. I know. Ginny says she’s being sexy for you because you’re married now and she knows you love her for her and not for her…um…tits or something.” Harry met Ron’s eye. “I’m just not used to it that’s all.”

“It’s okay to think my wife’s sexy, Harry. I think she’s bloody sexy, too.” Ron turned back toward store scanning the exit for signs of Hermione. “If it makes you feel any better, mate, she thinks you have the second best bum in Hogwarts.”

“Only the second?”

“Sorry you’re not in my league, mate.” Ron chuckled, then grew more serious. “It would also make me feel better if you stopped looking at her like that.”

* * *

“Harry....” Hermione seemed hesitant as she looked at him across the fire. Ron would be down at the lake for another half-hour or so. He was always so picky about his warming charms at bath-time. _Bath-time._ _Hermione's back, the curve of her spine elegant, glistening with water flowing from it as Harry wheels quickly and runs back up the path, as quietly as he can, his face burning._   “Are you angry with me?”

“Uh... No, Hermione, no, I'm not angry with you. Why would I be angry with you?”

She stood and moved around the fire to squat down before him. Harry resisted a desperate urge to sidle around, keeping the flames safely between them. _Water running down her spine, its flow curving to course down toward the center, as the prominences of her buttocks rise from the rolling plains of her back._

Harry closed his eyes, shaking his head rapidly. When he opened them again, he found he was staring into hers, a deep, rich brown, so warm and alive, a few inches away.

“You're avoiding me, Harry.” Hermione's tone was very firm, brooking no argument, but underlying was a tremor.

“No, I'm not,” said Harry, scooting back away from her. “I'm really not. Honestly.”

The sound she made as she dropped to land on her bottom on the warm earth seemed equal parts laughter and sob. “Of _course_ you're not, Harry! Why, just _look_ at you!” She gestured toward his bum, as he dragged it across the ground away from her. “How _stupid_ of me!”

“Oh, fuck, Hermione, you know you're anything but stupid! You _know_ that!”

Her eyes flashed. “Well, I bloody well wish _you_ did!” she cried, and Harry's eyes widened at the oath. “You talk about respecting my intelligence, and then expect me to buy tosh like you're not avoiding me!”

“I'm _not!_ ”

“ _Bollocks,_ Harry!” Her anger confused him, frightened him a little. These hard-spat words, the sparks flaring in her eyes.... He was used to seeing her like this with Ron -- he'd spent six years with them, after all -- but when she turned it toward him, he found it overwhelming, scary...and something more. A part of him, he didn't like to acknowledge, saw the fire in her, and nodded slowly, knowing what Ron saw in these moments. “You don't spend time with me, you won't talk to me, you barely _look_ at me! You're my _friend_ , Harry! You owe it to me to at least tell me what's wrong, what I've _done!_ ”

“You haven't done anything, Hermione.” _Except walk with your hips swinging just that little bit more. Except stretch with the unconscious comfort of a cat, shaking your hair out behind you_. “Nothing's wrong.” _Except that I can't just look at you and see 'Friend' any more, genderless and childish. Except that I look at you now and see a woman._

He shook his head at himself. _Get a grip, for Godric's sake! It's not like it's a crisis or anything. She's still Hermione._

She was watching him with bright, interested eyes, intelligent and warm, taking him in. “It’s Ron,” she said suddenly. “It is, isn’t it?”

Harry’s face colored.

“I _knew_ it! I _told_ him that he wasn’t to neglect you just because we’re married now! Harry, I promise, you’re not losing Ron to me, I’m not taking him away from you—”

Harry burst into laughter, and Hermione stilled, staring at him, her dark brows angled down over warm brown eyes, that “Hermione Works A Puzzle” line vertical between them. 

Harry stared for a moment, just enjoying the fierce intelligence at work before his survival instincts reminded him that _he_ was the puzzle she was working out—Her eyes widened, and Harry winced. _Too late!_

“What did he say to you, Harry?” Her voice was angry now, but not with him. Selling his friend down the river with his wife didn’t seem to Harry like a good solution…. But neither did the bollocking he was fairly sure she was going to give him.

“I…” Harry looked desperately about, as if he were hoping to see an Owl from Godric Gryffindor, with advice on how to deal with this. “It’s nothing, Hermione, really, I just…”

“Harry.” Her voice was low and firm. “What. Did. He. Say?”

Harry buried his face in his hands and answered.

When he looked up, Hermione was staring at him; her expression and body language speaking so loudly that she didn’t even bother to say the words: _Nice try. Now, try again so I can hear you._

“Ron asked me to— to, er, be careful how I look at you.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open. “He asked you _what?_ ”

“To, er… Well, really, more, _not_ to, well, that is…” Harry drew in a deep breath. “You’re a _girl_ , Hermione!”

Hermione just stared at him. “Did this come as some sort of shock to you?”

“No. Yes! No!” Harry gulped. “Well, the sexy part did…”

“It’s your decisiveness I admi—” Hermione interrupted herself as Harry’s words sunk in. “What?”

Harry looked unhappily at the ground. “I said—”

“I heard you, Harry,” Hermione’s voice was soft, gentle. “I’m sexy?”

Harry nodded miserably, his face bright red.

“Harry… Why are you upset about that? You’re not— you’re not desperately in love with me, and heartbroken that I married Ron!”

“No!” Harry cried, shaking his head vehemently. “No, not that, nothing like that, Godric! I’m in love with Ginny, Hermione. You know that.”

“What’s the problem, then?” Hermione seemed baffled.

“Ron noticed. He noticed me looking at you like—Well, like you’re sexy. He—”

Hermione reddened. “Oh, that jealous idiot! Doesn’t he—”

“No, no,” said Harry, quickly. “He wasn’t jealous, wasn’t mad or anything. I think he was… _Protective_ , I guess, really.”

“Protecting me from _what_ , exactly? From _you?_ ”

Harry shook his head, wondering if his face would ever regain its normal temperature.

“Harry, honestly. I love you. I trust you. It’s not like you’re sneaking down to the lake, watching me

 bathe-“

Harry felt the temperature in his face rise about ten degrees, and Hermione’s eyes widened.

“You _did not!_ ”

“No, no, not on purpose! I didn’t sneak, I just—”

Hermione was reddening now as well, looking at the ground. Her voice was barely a breath. “What did you see, Harry?”

“Your back,” he said. “That’s all, just your back.” He smiled, a horrible, false, cheery smile. “It’s, er… It’s quite nice actually. Elegant.”

Hermione’s face rose to Harry’s, eyes bright, a kind of surprised smile on her lips. “Why—Why, thank you, Harry.”

Harry looked down again. “I’m sorry, Hermione. God, it’s going to get all weird now.”

Hermione laughed. “Why would you think that? Did it get all weird when I told you I was attracted to you?”

Harry stared at her, mouth open. “You never!”

“Honestly, Harry! You’re just thick as a brick, aren’t you? _Quite frankly, you’ve never been more fanciable! You’re brave and heroic and the whole wizarding world knows it, and you’re so tall now, too…_ ”

“You were talking about all those silly girls! Romilda Vane and them.”

Hermione smiled fondly at him. “If you ever _do_ get a clue, Harry, be sure and hide it. You being this clueless is terribly sexy, somehow. Like it would be such fun to teach you…”

Harry’s eyes had taken on the dimensions of Dobby’s. “ _Hermione!_ ”

“Yes, Harry, I find you sexy. Very sexy. Does that make me some sort of a scarlet woman?”

“I…” Harry shook his head. “I guess not.”

“Of _course_ not! Harry, we’re heterosexual teenagers of the opposite sex who spend huge amounts of time in close proximity. Of _course_ there’s some underlying attraction. We wouldn’t be human if there wasn’t.”

“Well… Ron just told me he’d feel better about it if I didn’t look at you that way.”

Hermione looked at him for a long moment. “I think you ought to discuss this with Ron again, then. If he _is_ feeling jealous, or threatened or something— Well, you want to be a good friend, don’t you? You want to respect his feelings. But, Harry, _I_ don’t mind. I’m with Ron. I _love_ Ron. I’m so, so happy to be his wife, and I’d never dishonour that, and I know you know that… But, Harry… A girl likes to feel pretty. Feel… sexy. I know you Harry, and I trust you.” Her smile went from fond to wicked. “So if you want to keep checking out my arse, well, that’s only fair, isn’t it?”

Harry stared at her as if seeing her, yet again, for the first time. “S—” he began, then swallowed and tried again, blushing furiously through his own cheeky sally. “Second best at Hogwarts, I hear.”

“Bloody hell!” came Ron’s distant voice from the woods. “Buggering roots can’t keep to themselves…”

“Not second,” Hermione told him with a wink, as she started to rise. “But what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Harry sat back, thunderstruck, as she turned to walk toward the sound of Ron’s voice.

She paused, glanced over her shoulder. “Coming, Harry?” As he clambered to his feet, she paused again, glanced over her shoulder at him, and, with a cheeky wink, gave her hips a quick, saucy shake. 

Then she laughed, a bright, musical sound, and marched off toward her husband, Harry’s best friend.

**Next: Here Be Dragons (and Drakes)**

**Authors note:** Great stories come out of sharing ideas, this story comes out of sharing a few idol thoughts on Half-blood prince with Sandy (who became my Beta), 

This chapter came out of a discussion with Jon ( **Leviathan)** about acknowledging attraction exists even when there is no intention to pursue it. Jon and I plotted some ideas, and he went away and presented me with this chapter. It’s different from my style, anybody who knows either of us knows how our presentation differs, but it connects on a numbers of levels with the way I see the Trio relationship both in Jo’s books and in this story. I couldn’t have written this, Jon’s way with words differs from mine and this allows you the reader a unique opportunity to see the same characters in a slightly different light.

Big Thanks Jon.

 


	26. Mighty Dragons

**Midnight Confessions Chapter 26: Mighty Dragons.  
By allo**y  
  
 _Prologue:_  
  
Garath McGowan had farmed in the shadow of Weasley Mountain for thirty years. Before that his forbears had enjoyed the Weasleys as neighbours for more than an eon.  
  
In general it was an amicable arrangement. They encountered each other once or twice a month along their common border; pleasantries would be exchanged, and the weather would be discussed. At Christmas there were token gifts.  
  
The McGowan’s were a prosperous family. A thousand golden summers and the sweet water of a mountain that the world refused to acknowledge had garnered them the sort of wealth that doesn’t need to be displayed. It was this wealth that enabled them to retain their holdings despite obscene taxes and the onslaught of the modern world.  
  
On his seventeenth birthday, Garath had been invited for dinner to meet the patriarch of the Weasley clan and a trust had been laid upon him. It was the price of McGowan success, the guardianship of an ancient secret.  
  
Garath had never before seen a car on the track leading through his fields to his neighbours abode.   
  
Horses…yes, and shimmering silver horned creatures and drakes, the unofficial guardians of the path, dragons and creatures he could not name.  
  
It was the drakes that worried Garath; they had been restless of late even to the extent of wondering on his lands in search of silently screaming shadows. Garath had no idea how they would respond to the car.  
  
Not well it seemed, as the little red vehicle was engulfed in dozens of the miniature dragons. As the car door opened, Garath reached for the charm around his neck.  
The sight of the lanky redhead eased his worries. Casually the young man began to shoo the drakes off the path. Soon he was joined by the driver, a jeans clad young woman with wild chestnut hair who took a considerably more cautious stance to the obstruction.  
  
“Ronald,” came a voice from behind him, “My cousin Arthur’s boy.” The deep rich voice belonged to his neighbour Donovan Weasley. “The lass, his wife, Hermione.”   
  
The girl was bolder now ‘shooing’ with more vigour.  
“They’ve come to stay a while.”  
  
Garath felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder and Donovan stooped to match his height.  
  
“Be cautious of strangers my friend, we’re expecting no more guests, and  
family are not likely to be making inquiries of you.”  
  
“I would know your family, Donovan,” Garath replied. “I know who belongs on these lands.”  
  
Donovan nodded and his eyes fell upon the charm. “Keep it hidden, Garath, but always to hand.”  
  
 **Mighty Dragons.**  
  
 _Harry._  
  
It took a while for Harry to realize that he was jealous, a while longer for him to realize why.  
  
The Den was not the Burrow. Harry thought of the Burrow as home now, and Molly and Arthur treated Harry like one of their own. But Donovan and Sally Weasley while greeting him in friendship had treated Harry like a guest with all customary Weasley hospitality.   
  
Harry was used to that, used to sharing that status with Hermione, but now…..  
  
Hermione Weasley had been invited into Sally’s kitchen, Hermione Weasley was subject to good natured ribald teasing which made her blush and grin at the same time. Hermione Weasley gave as good as she got, confident in her status as family, as a Weasley.  
  
Hermione Weasley had stood in and amongst Firedrakes with impunity shooing the dangerous magical creatures from their path, while Harry had sat trapped in the small car seething with frustration.  
  
Frustration which had not eased at learning that he was confined to the garden of the Den… while Hermione…  
  
Harry watched Ron take Hermione’s hand, lead her out the house toward the gate and path that Harry was forbidden to traverse, leaving the garden, the garden wet with rain.

_Ronald._  
  
Ron was grateful for the bright moonlight. While he had walked this path before, he had not done it often. Ron smiled, not nearly as often as Charlie anyway.  
  
Hermione had hesitated at the garden gate. “Is it wise?” she asked.  
  
“Not still worried about the Drakes, Luv?”  
  
“No…Ron…I just don’t think it’s sensible to wander about at night under the circumstances….” Ron knew his grin was going to get him into trouble. “There’s a war on, Ron.”  
  
“Hermione…”  
  
“Don’t laugh at me, Ronald!”  
  
Ron forced his face straight. “This is Weasley land, Luv.   
  
“I know, Ron, and I know you can raise those wards, but that won’t do much good if they’re already inside.”  
  
“There are the Drake’s, Hermione….”  
  
“Yes, Ron, I know. The Drakes won’t harm me….”  
  
“Almost all the Drakes in England live on this mountain, Hermione.”  
  
“Oh….” Ronald enjoyed the expression of realization on his wife’s face, and took his blushing wife’s hand again and concentrated on the path until they found themselves by the lake.  
  
“Godric’s Lake,” he said proudly. “Formed when they took the stone for Gryffindor tower.”  
  
Hermione shook her head. “Why take stone form so far away, Ron? A thousand years long before trains or trucks or…..oh magic…”  
  
 _Hermione._  
  
Ron’s laughter echoed into the night but Hermione didn’t have the heart to be angry. Ron’s shirt lay on the ground, and he stepped out of the trousers pooled around his feet. Hermione enjoyed the sight of his firm bare buttocks as he burst into a short run and dived into the lake.  
  
Hermione glanced subconsciously around. A bright burst of flame illuminated a copse of trees to her left.  
  
 _Drakes, a mountain where only a Weasley could walk with immunity._  
  
“Are you coming, Mrs. Weasley?”  
  
Hermione shrugged. This mountain was as safe a private place as she and Ron would ever find.  
  
“It’s not cold, Hermione.”  
  
It wasn’t, and Ron’s arms around her weren’t intended to keep her warm. Hermione allowed Ron and the water to support her while they slow danced until a shadow fell over the moon.  
  
The twin splashes signalled that they were no longer alone.  
Hermione shrieked, as the taller of the two intruders emerged naked in a veil of darkness.   
  
_Chris_.  
  
It took Chrysanthemum Weasley a moment to register that Godric’s Lake was occupied, a moment to grasp the notion that Charlie’s brother may have brought his wife up the mountain. A moment to analyze Ron’s grin and sink back into the water using her raven hair as curtain.  
  
The dragon above them uncovered the moon.  
  
“All grown up, Ronnie.”  
  
“Ah, huh.”  
  
“Pervert!” Charlie grunted from behind her. “What would Mum think of Ickle Ronnikins bringing his girlfriend to a cold mountain pond to skinny dip?”  
  
“It’s really rather warm,” Hermione murmured.  
  
“And Hermione’s my wife,” said Ron.   
  
Chris found the possession in Ron’s voice really rather sexy.  
  
“’sides,” Ron continued. “Can I tell Mum why you’re here?”  
  
Charlie reached across and grasped Ron shoulder. "My married brother has a nice comfy guest bedroom. I have Chris’s father kissing me goodnight on his study couch.”  
  
Hermione giggled.  
  
“He’s not a small man.”  
  
“Oh shush, Charlie, Da’s a teddy bear.”  
  
“Now if little brother could vacate the cold mountain pond, and relocate his cozy guest room… Chris and I can….  
  
“Charlie!”  
  
Charlie shrugged. “Chris…”  
  
" _Little Brother?_ " Ron grabbed Charlie's wrist, and dove backward yanking Bill Charlie with him into the deeper part of the lake.   
  
Chris and Hermione withdrew to the shallows. Chris glanced at the younger girl. Hermione’s lips slightly parted, her gaze intent and Chris turned back to the naked swirling mass of red hair, freckles, and muscle, as the two brothers, older and younger wrestled in the water, their friendly combat punctuated by rasping gasps for air.  
  
A hand found Chris’s wrist, “Should we be enjoying this so much?” The younger witch asked.  
  
Chris laughed. “Who cares,” she said.   
  
“Who cares!” Hermione echoed.  
  
 _Charlie._  
  
While Ron certainly couldn’t match Charlie’s stocky strength, in the water his wiry frame evened the odds. Eventually Charlie flung him off. “Peace,” he gasped, “Peace.”  
  
Both brothers drew desperate lungfuls of breath. From the side of the lake a smattering of applause drew their attention back to the young woman.  
  
“What do you think of her?” Ron asked earnestly.  
  
Charlie glanced up and then back at his brother. “Stop fishing for compliments, Ron.” He chuckled, “Better suited than any Brown girl.”  
  
Ron shook his head vigorously. “Lets not go there, Charlie….Or I’ll be forced to tell Chris about the another Brown girl.”  
  
Charlie patted his younger brother on the shoulder “Let sleeping dragons lie, Ron, for Merlin’s sake let them lie.”  
  
“Is that it,” shouted Chris commencing a scattering of applause to which Hermione joined. “That can’t be all…..”   
  
“ _Encore_ ,” Hermione shouted hopefully.  
  
“Oh she’s Weasley, alright,” Charlie muttered. “Listen, Ron, if we play our cards right…..”  
  
 _Donovan_  
  
The moon would set soon, making all paths up the mountain dark and treacherous. Not that it mattered, Ron and Hermione had returned almost an hour ago and Chrysanthemum could navigate every inch of the mountain blindfolded had Charlie not had a dragon at hand to fly them about. It was down the valley that Donovan cast was gaze from his bedroom windows.   
  
There were more than young lovers abroad this night, more than family for whom Donovan was fearful, and neighbours whom he regarded as family.   
  
_Darkness was abroad._  
  
 **Epilogue.**  
  
The moon shone down the valley allowing Garath McGowan, as he sat on his porch, a splendid view of his holdings and his neighbour’s mountain.  
  
He was aware of cloaked figure making his up the path and was singularly unsurprised when the man revealed himself with a theatrical flourish.   
  
“It’s dangerous to wander about in these hills,” Garath said, even as the man opened his mouth.  
  
The man gaped once, and then turned into a sneer. “I’m the one who’s dangerous.”  
  
“Hmmph.”  
  
“I want to know about strangers old man. Strangers around the mountain.”  
  
“What mountain?”  
  
The man’s eyes narrowed. “That mountain,” he said, “Weasley Mountain.”  
  
“Only seen one stranger hereabouts.”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Looking at him.”  
  
Anger flashed over the man’s face, his eyes narrowed. “Then you’re of no…”  
  
There was a fleeting look of surprise as the he was flung backward by the shotgun blast.  
  
Garath stood, calmly broke the barrel, extracted and replaced the spent shell even as the man writhed, sending his death rattle into the air.  
  
There was a rustle in the bushes off the path. Garath swung the shotgun around.  
  
“I swear Mr. McGowan, I haven’t been near your orchid at all today.”  
  
A tall form immerged from the bushes, the freckled face familiar despite fresh scars, dragging another cloaked figure behind him.  
  
“And your cousin Jasper?”  
  
There was a soft crunching sound and another redhead appeared chomping on an apple. “You’re not here by yourself, Uncle Garath? Are you?”  
  
“He’s not,” Garath smiled wryly as his brother Gabriel stepped out of the house.  
  
“We’ve sent the rest of the family down to Brighton,” Garath said.  
  
Bill dropped the body alongside the shotgun victim. Glancing up his cousin, he extracted his wand and tapped them both causing to them to dissolve into dust.  
  
“There may be more.”  
  
“We’ve more shells.”  
  
Jasper took another bite of the apple. “Just don’t shoot us,” he mumbled. “We’ll be around.”  
  
“Steal more apples and I just might.”  
  
In response, Jasper cheekily tossed an apple to Bill.  
  
“You could go down to Brighton.”  
  
“Hmmph”  
  
“We know who belongs on these lands,” The younger McGowan said.  
  
“We’re glad of it,” Jasper Weasley replied.  
  
The four men stood, wizard and muggle, as the moon dipped below Weasley Mountain and causing a shadow to fall over them.  
  
“We’re glad of it.”  
  
To be continued…..  
  
Next : **Signs and Portents**  
  
  



	27. Signs & Portents

**Midnight Confessions : Signs and Portents.**  
By alloy

The brightness of the old man frightens me.

He’s older than Dumbledore. A blind cripple who shines brighter than any wizard I’ve ever known, save one.

Even here in this house, a home filled with wizards and witches, on a mountain; a nesting ground inhabited by hundreds of magical Firedrakes. The two, locked in duel, shine too bright to tell apart by magic alone.

A wand is lost, another turns toward me, a wry smile purses thin lips.

_“Avada Kedavra.”_

The green bolt of the killing cursing shatters into a million shards of rainbow against my golden cocoon.

In anger, one wizard grows brighter.

Waves of magical energy overwhelm the older man and he begins to slump in his chair.

Donovan Weasley leaps forward only to have his vast frame flung effortlessly back.

_This is not how wizards duel, this is how Weasleys fight!_

I step out of my cocoon and send forth my patronus.

_“Ronald!”_ My otter shouts shrilly. “I’m alright, I’m fine! It wasn’t even a killing curse, it was an illusion.”

_“Stop!”_ My patronus and I scream in unison.

Ron stops.

I hear the sharp cry of a Drake in the distance and Donovan Weasley hoists Ron into the air.

“Stupid bloody idiot, you could have killed him, You’re a bloody menace. You could have killed him.”

Ron is shaken like a rag doll. Magic forgotten, I grab the bear like man’s arm, it makes no difference.

“Don’t you know your own strength?!” Donovan roars.

“ _He does now_ ,” comes a tired voice echoing through our minds. “Let him be, son. He only did what I wanted him to do.”

“Da?”

“I’m alright, Donovan. Put the boy down before you shake the magic out of him.”

Ron finds himself on his feet. “I, I…”

I steady him. The boy I fell in love with, the man who is my husband and lover, the mage who almost killed his Great Uncle over me.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“What did you do, boy?”

“I almost killed you.”

“No! That is of no consequence. What did you do before that?”

“I protected Hermione from the killing curse. You tried to curse Hermione….”

“Hush, Ron,” I say trying let calm flow though my hands on his chest. Trying to will his rapidly beating heart to slow. “It wasn’t real, Ron. It was an illusion, a trick.”

“ _It was a ward raised without blood, nor piss, nor spit_ ,” Old Hugh Weasley chuckles. “I couldn’t have done it better myself.”

“But surely…” I say. “Surely any Weasley can do that….surely Ron can’t be the only one.”

“Ah, lass,” Donovan sighs and gestures to his grandfather. “The only other sits right there. You’ve married a ‘Wardmaster,’ you have.”

“Can’t be!” Ron says.

“Wards brought forth without blood, nor piss, nor spit--” Hugh intones, “--brought forth from the heart.”

“Albus would have been rather please to see this.

A cold chill runs through me. “He planned this? The Headmaster, did he plan this?”

“You do him a disservice, Hermione. The fact that he and I suspected, does not mean we planned it.”

“But you knew!”

“We knew that the chosen one was destined to have companions.”

“That we were to be those companions?”

“A prophecy told of your birth, Hermione, yours and Ronald’s.”

“What prophecy?” Ron asks.

“That, I cannot say.”

I feel an anger echoing Ron’s rise up.

“I refuse! I refuse to believe that Ronald and I are somehow being controlled by destiny.”

“Yet you believe your friend Harry to be governed by them.”

“I won’t!” The tears begin to well. “I won’t have my choices taken away from!”

“Prophecies only come true if people make choices, Hermione. Some of those choices were made before you were born.”

“I didn’t make them!”

“They were not yours to make.”

“But still….”

“Hermione? Are you going to stop loving me because it’s the opposite of a silly prophecy?”

_Damn him! Damn him! Damn him!_

I bury my face in his chest inhaling hard to let his scent calm and protect me. Damn him! Nothing in the world could make me stop loving him.

“Love can never be forced, Hermione,” Hugh says, “Though sometimes it can be destined.”

The old man shudders. “I’m tired,” he says. “I need my supper.”

“Wait!” I say. “Does this mean Ron can raise wards anywhere?”

“Anywhere child, and any size to the limits of his will and strength, though he won’t find it so easy off Weasley land.”

I raise my hand to touch Ron’s cheek. “I love you, Ronald Weasley, I still don’t like being a pawn of prophecy, but I know I love you.”

He grins, the lopsided genuine grin that’s even been known to win over McGonagall.

“I reckon any prophecy that says I end up married to the smartest witch of our age has to be a bloody good prophecy.”

"Any prophecy's good lad, so long as it gets ya into ya lass's knickers."

“Donovan!”

Sally Weasley is taller than Molly, her hair like her daughter’s is black, though her sons carry the same Ginger mops as my Ron.

“There’s no need to be rude!”

Donovan laughs, a bellyful affair and the tension eases from all of us.

“She’s of age, Sally, and married to boot. I reckon she enjoys the Weasley magic as much as you.”

“I feel my cheeks burning, and Ron wraps his arm around me. I know he’s blushing too.”

Sally winks at me. “Would that be the Weasley magic young Charlie and Chris would have been practicing in Romania?”

“I damn well hope not!” Donovan roars. “I’ll knock his block off.”

“Well Chrysthanemum is older than Hermione,” Sally says.

“I mean nothing by it, lass.”

“It’s alright Uncle Donovan.”

“It will be, lass, but I’m worried about y’r now.” The big man scoops something of the ground and slaps 14 inches of willow into my palm. “Call it a sign girl, call it a portent; it’s a poor wife to be forgettin’ her husband’s wand so quickly.”

He chuckles.

“Especially one this big.”

Fin  



	28. Her Master's Voice

**Midnight Confessions Chapter 28 - Her Master’s Voice**

_By alloy_

The respite offered by the safety of Donovan’s Den under the reassuring shadow of Weasley Mountain had afforded Harry the opportunity to examine his birthday present.

Ron & Hermione’s gift had been a copy of his family tree, and while his friends had struggled to master their family magic, his study had turned inward, to who he was and how he came to be.

It was only half the story of course; the magic world having no knowledge of his mother’s family, only that Lily Evans was a muggleborn witch who had married into the long and distinguished line of Potter.

The Potter line had, for at least a thousand years, entwined itself with the families Weasley and Longbottom. It had been very pleasing to discover that his friends Ron and Neville were in fact not so distant cousins.

The exercise had whetted his appetite for more and Harry had, at Hugh Weasley’s invitation, availed himself of the former headmaster’s extensive library. This Hermione-like activity had yielded an unexpected result. 

A record of the Hogwarts sortings listed a "Regulus Arcturus Black" as being sorted into Slytherin in 1972. Harry had seen the name before on a tapestry alongside the burnt out spot that had marked Harry’s godfather Sirius.

"RAB" had been under their noses the whole time in a house that Harry himself owned.

They were returning to number twelve Grimwald place.

*

"Is that it, Harry?" 

"Yes."

Harry reached out and picked up the locket. It had taken the better part of the morning to find, a morning punctuated by increasing frustration on all their parts. Eventually they found it in one of Kreacher’s nests, as Ron liked to call them.

The locket felt heavy; heavier than it had any right to be, as if evil weighed something.

Reluctantly Harry, with a sense of looming foreboding, undid the clasp and placed the locket around his neck.

"See mistress," came the voice. "He brings mudbloods into the Black house." Harry glanced up. Kreacher was standing in the doorway flanked by two Death Eaters. "He brings Weasley blood traitors. He steals from us!"

The Death Eaters stepped forward, their masks fading away.

_"Beautiful boy,"_ came a woman’s voice, _"Pretty Harry Potter."_

A cold chill ran down Harry’s spine as he recognized both the face and the voice.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

The man he recognized too, Antonin Dolohov.

Behind Harry came Ron’s voice, low and guttural, "Out of my way, Harry."

"The mudblood and the traitor can die here," Dolohov said casually raising his wand.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

There came a roar of anger from Ron, and Harry found himself being shoved aside. 

The green bolts of the killing curse shattered prematurely against a semi-transparent wall of amber energy; a wall which raced toward the death eaters. It reached Dolohov first sending him flying. Bellatrix, with a second more to spare, disapparated. 

Instinctively Harry followed her, willing himself and twisting his body through space and reappearing on a landing near the top of the house. 

_"Clever trick from little Weasley,"_ came a voice.

Harry could feel a bruise forming from where he had fallen, an aching pain that demanded release.

_"Crucio"_

The spell narrowly missed; sending up splinters into its intended victim.

_"You’ve got to mean it pretty boy. I told you, it’s about want."_

_"About wanting to hurt," Harry said, "About wanting to punish."_

_"Words pretty boy. Pretty words from a pretty boy…."_

_"Crucio!"_

Bellatrix screamed.

A surge of satisfaction flowed through Harry and a smile crossed his lips.

Bellatrix twisted in space before his eyes, and Harry followed.

__

In the library, shards of green splinter against the amber walls of Ron’s will.

__

The attic: feathers and hippogriff dung. 

A sneeze halts Bellatrix’s flight.

_"Crucio!"_

The witch’s body sprawls on the floor writhing.

There was an art to this. Harry could see that now; how to lengthen his vowels, twist his wand, to send her sprawling first one-way and then another. 

An art too, the respite, the momentary relief, and the chase.

__

In the kitchen Hermione placing a binding spell on the house elf.

__

The cellar: dark, damp. Bellatrix in the darkness, holding her breath. Harry’s lips parting... his tongue darting, tasting.

The curse is in Parseltongue. The word...long and sinewy, the smell of disturbed earth, a swish and flick to turn a scream on and off.

__

Above him the two-tone thud of a body falling, something soaks through carpet and floor; it tastes of metallic in the air.

__

"Mercy"

Harry hisses again, the swish and flick.

"Mercy"

A wand lunge. A satisfying hiss.

"Mercy"

__

Blood dripping from above.

__

"Harry!"

"Crucio"

"Harry, where are you?"

Harry screams defiance at the silver otter and it turns and runs through him, chilling him to bone.

"Crucio!!" he screams twisting all the pain and anguish of his life into the single curse.

But the reply isn’t "Mercy." It never was "Mercy," it was "Master."

"Master"

Bellatrix in the darkness...calling him ‘Master.’

A second light in the darkness, a dog and Harry’s bloodlust leaves him, too soon.

"Where is it?" he screams, "Where is it?" Desperately reaching into himself; searching, seeking to embrace the darkness within.

"Master?" 

A silence punctuated by dripping blood.

"It’s in Gringotts, Master, in your vault, like you commanded,"

An otter joins the dog.

"Master? Does Master want to punish me again? Please?"

"Please, Master, punish me."

A pity fills Harry for this sick woman, he cannot muster another curse. In the shimmering light of the two patronuses, the madness in her eyes changes, and Bellatrix Lestrange folds in on herself disappearing from Grimwald place.

Harry gathered his will and apparated upstairs.

"Harry," Hermione said grabbing his shoulders. "Harry, we’ve got go, there will be Aurors here soon, and Death Eaters too." But Harry couldn’t tear his gaze from Dolohov.

The death eater lay on the floor, his blood pooled in a perfect circle around him, a thousand gashes covering his body.

"Sectumsempra," Harry murmured.

"Yes, Harry, ‘Sectumsempra’, now we have to go!"

With Ron and Hermione on either side of him Harry allowed himself to be guided out of number 12 Grimwald place and into their small car awaiting outside.

Hermione twisted the key, the engine sprang to life, and they glided into the London traffic as Harry felt rather than saw the arrival of an Auror squad.

"Dolohov…" Harry began.

"Family business, Harry," said Ron interrupting him. "That bastard killed Mum’s brothers." Despite her devoted concentration to driving, Harry saw Hermione nod her head. "And he won’t hurt Hermione ever again."

Hermione suddenly swerved, all around them hooters honked as she adroitly stole a newly vacated parking.

After lifting the handbrake Hermione turned. "What happened with Bellatrix, Harry?"

"She got away," Harry admitted, "But I think she told me where to look next."

Next: Gringotts

Authors note:

There’s a chapter two years and one continent abandonment in the making.

Written in Aotearoa.

In this was an incredibly difficult chapter to write.

I knew what I wanted to happen, specially with Ron and Dolohov, and I made a number of false starts from both Ron’s and Hermione’s perspective, until I settled on Harry POV and focused on the effect a horcrux could have on Harry. Which lead to the whole Master/mercy dynamic.


End file.
